Out of the West
by Larry Huss
Summary: Any suffienctly advanced science would be thought of as magic"-Arthur C. Clark. "We are being present at the birth of the Superman!"-Frederick Nietzche. AU/OC.
1. Chapter 1

I do not own or receive any benefits from the Harry Potter series.

Any sufficiently advanced power may be confused with magic. Wizarding Britain is not the limit of the world. But in the end all the threads may end up in one Gordian knot there.

Out of the West

Chapter 1- Hometown boy.

Charlie Paloozi had never thought he was going to get any part of America into a war, even a hidden and unofficial one, but since he never realized he had, he never had to reexamine his place in the world. His opinion of himself as a cheerful nerd and useful government drone remained unchallenged throughout the years to come. But, after all, it was cheerful nerds who gave us the Theory of Evolution, Crazy Glue and the Atomic Bomb. Charlie Paloozi was a cheerful nerd who loved his family, his work (the cartography section of the U.S. Geological Survey) and his home town, Salem Massachusetts.

Salem MA, founded 1626, some interesting trials1692-93, population (1990 census) 33,000. Area 18.1 sq miles (8.1 land, 10 water). Charlie had been born and raised there, went to local public schools until he went to University of Massachusetts, Amherst. Information about his home town had been in his head since a grade school project. He used it as a little amusing standard as he did his work, how many Salem's did this town or National Park make. He still visited his parents and kept abreast on doings in the old place, things like major new construction and changes in census data. So when the new satellite photography came in for the Mass. Coast he set his computer to do the calculations on land/water areas so the old truths would show up, it was as much a way of making sure the system and satellite were working well as anything else.

Accordingly he was annoyed when the figures came back as Land-9.2 sq miles, Water 8.9 sq. miles. Either the area calculation program was buggy, or there was a problem in the satellite imagery. So he called up latest pictures from file on the computer and started going over each section. Everything was going fine until he got to the east end of the town, out around where Derby St. and Fort Ave went up the Eastern Peninsula, Salem Willows Park to the west and Salem Academy and the dull and uninteresting mudflats to the east. While (despite what TV shows suggested) orbiting cameras couldn't read license plates on cars from orbit, resolution was certainly good enough to show the mudflats as solid ground with major trees growing on them, and the little old Salem Academy as being a lot bigger than he remembered it, with walled in grounds extending at least a half mile into Marblehead Bay. He started to get a headache. The Bay was shallows and mudflats and dangerous to walk onto (even at low tide), and too polluted to get clams from and dull and useless and the headache got worse and Charlie started to sweat, and the Academy was a little boarding school, not hundreds of acres large, and… Finally he tagged the whole section as "Anomalous Satellite Imagery and Structures" just like the directions in the Manual for inexplicable contradictions, sent it up to the Correlations and Corrections Office, and ran to the men's room, where he managed to get to a toilet before the vomiting started. When thoroughly empty he staggered to a sink, turned on the cold water and splashed his head for a minute. The pain went away as he dried his face and hair (not any easy thing with the little paper towels they have in government offices). He went back to his office, cleared the screen, and put his head down on the desk. Maybe he should invite his parents down to his place for Christmas this year; it was such a drag driving up to Salem with the kids and all.

The tagged file went to C & C, with CCs going to a few tangentially concerned parties both in and outside of the Cartography Section. C & C wasn't very interested, all the data matched up for them so they just kill-filed the report. Most of the CCs were promptly filed and forgotten. One wasn't.

A month after Charlie had decided that his old home town was too boring a place to visit anymore (unless there was a family emergency) someone from the NIA (National Intelligence Agency) dropped in and chatted with him for a few minutes on how the new satellites were doing, were they sharp enough for accurate plotting of buildings and things? Charlie said they were the best, sharpest images ever, and the cameras had high reliability, he was adjusting seasonal stream bed paths in the Grand Teton National Park maps with them right now. When the guy, Bill Lipper, asked him about the report on the North East Coast images that he had kicked upstairs (with the note at the end: "I'm feeling very sick") Charlie didn't remember it. He really didn't remember it. He couldn't remember it.

Lipper didn't press things, and left soon after. When he got down to the lobby he got onto a public phone and called a number, one that wasn't in a government office. When the phone on the other end was picked up. Lipper identified himself and said:"Maybe", and hung up. He then drove back to his office at the Dept. of Agriculture, remembering to put his real ID tag with his real name on it clipped to his suit jacket pocket. The Devil is in the details.

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	2. Chapter 2

I do not own or receive any benefits from the Harry Potter series.

I blame it on those damn Atomic Bombs.

Out of the West

Chapter 2- Paid vacation.

Leo Green (3rd generation) was trying not to yawn as Mr. Fermi (Albert Fermi (2nd Generation)) went on briefing him on what his summer job was going to be. Not many 15 year olds were given a chance to make $50 a day and expenses as a secret agent, but Leo would really have preferred to make baseball practice this summer, and hang out at the Agnes Willard's folk's pool. She had this cute Aussie accent, and in the last year had learned how to fill out a swimsuit very well. Instead Mr. Fermi was telling him that he was going out East on another S&S (Sneaky and Surveillance) job. That wouldn't be so bad; it was on the coast anyway. But he was still too young to do it without a chaperone. Sure they called it a Team Controller, but it was a chaperone all the same. It was the price he had to pay for having parents who were such big team players. It took a lot of fun out of being a 'Mutant Monster'.

Mr. Fermi got to the meat of the story;

"We've had two teams try to get in; one had a Hier 4 and a Spiek 4 to "suggest" things. They got as far as the front gate and then just wandered away aimlessly for the next hour. The Hier didn't get back to coherence for another two hours after that. The other team had someone with actual spook training and a Shell 1 on it. The Shell actually managed to get over the wall. She showed up the next day in an alley giggling with more THC in her system than a Grateful Dead tour. When she was back to earth her Shell was leaking like a sieve. All she remembered was picking up a bottle of Scotch and swigging it. She isn't that type of person, or that type of drinker. And who would lace a bottle of Scotch with THC?

"It was obvious she had her memories wiped, false ones put in. The job wasn't near perfect, whoever they are they didn't really know how to deal with her Shell, so they dosed her and set up a cover story for her being wiped. It took three weeks before she was back together really, but she has recovered.

"There haven't been any repercussions; it looks like she was able to make it look like she was just a sneak thief that managed to slip through the cracks in their system. She just doesn't remember how she did it. We can't afford to get caught again. They wouldn't be that sloppy again, and a real interrogation would blow the Secret, if it still is for them.

"So we're giving it one more try. You're a Shell 2; add that to Teek 3 you should be able to get out of most problems. We've noticed animals, especially birds going in and out like crazy, so your Team Controller is a Pet specialist, especially fliers.

"As there is a slight degree of risk involved, despite your age you'll be getting adult compensation, with the standard danger multiplier. And no, your parents don't have to know this bit. The Mission will last two weeks, pack accordingly. Officially you'll be visiting relatives in Massachusetts, don't forget to send post cards. Any questions will answer by the Mission Brief you will be provided. It will, of course be destroyed before you actually leave on the Mission."

Leo did a little mental math: full adult pay=$150/day. Danger multiplier X2. Two weeks =14days ('cause Duty never sleeps). Coming to a grand total (untaxed) of $4,200. Of which he was sure he could get his parents to release at least a third for him. So, Hello motorbike! Ok, maybe a used Kawasaki Ninja, but still! Certainly he was volunteering; a loyal son of the A (dvanced) G (enetic) E (volution) R (ecipients) was he. Yes, a _well paid _son of AGER.

Ten days later, the day in July after the Glorious Fourth, Leo Gold was leaning against a red brick wall, while across the road Will Oppenheimer {(2nd generation) Pet-3 was shaking his head. Leo checked both ways, then crossed the road and asked as soon as he was on the other side;"So, was I 100 yards from the gate this time?"

Will's reply was a little shaky; "No, you still look like you're right next to it, and I know we walked at least a hundred yards past it this time. "

"So did you take a picture? The gate is over there." Said Leo pointing south. Noticing Will looking confused Leo reached over and put the older man's hand on the camera suspended from a strap around his neck. Will started a bit and then picked it up, but his actions became vague as he fiddled with the focus and he absently let it fall back down onto his chest without actual snapping anything. Leo had never seen someone with his brains so fried. It was time to break out the strange guns.

"Will, turn around." The man did so in an absent minded way, not even making a token complaint that he was the Team Controller, not the 15 year old kid. When he was faced away from the wall around the Salem Academy, the wall that was a half mile longer than it should be according to the plans at Town Hall, Will's eyes became more focused, in fact he even started to look a little pissed. Leo knew it wasn't at him, and that someone else was going to get bad news soon. Will knew his business.

Will lifted his hand up to shoulder level, then he gave a whistle to a large black bird that left a nearby tree branch and with a neat swoop and flutter of its wings landed on his wrist. They looked into each other's eyes for a minute, then Will gave it a piece of beef jerky. It took it with glee, then lifted off and flew over the wall. Will grunted to Leo and led him back to the rental car twenty five yards or so down the road. They got in and started the car and turned it around, back to the motel they were staying in.

"Don't worry, kid, Phil's going to give us a straight report. Ravens are smart, and Phil and me have something special in our connection. When I debrief him it will be at least as good as if he was human, hell, he's probably smarter than me anyway!

So, I was really spacing out back there, right? I swear every time I looked in that direction it all seemed so _normal_, so boring that it wasn't worth while remembering or taking one of those damn pictures we're supposed to. What are you looking out the window so hard for?"

"Power and telephone lines", replied Leo.

"Unless my brain is still fried, there aren't any" Will said.

"This time you're right, there aren't any. Why not is the question. We know that this part of the state doesn't have good cell phone reception yet. Where are the land lines? And we've seen lights on in the windows of the place, I doubt a boarding school in the middle of Massachusetts has its own power plant on campus." Leo shut up then, as they started to go through the regular area of town. He seemed to turn his thoughts inward. He'd used to think that having the psychic ability of _not_ being able to hear people's thoughts, or _not _being able to give them some of his was something of a bad joke. Now he wasn't sure of that at all.

Two hours later they heard a rapping at rear window of the cabin they had rented at the motel. Leo got up to turn the TV off, while Will opened the window and let Phil in. A very impressive customer he was. It wasn't just his wingspan of four feet. If you looked at him, just the way he moved and held himself, you could see that he was smart, he could think. He half hopped, half flew onto the back of a chair near the standard motel room table and reached out and grabbed a grape from the bowl Will had set up for him that morning. Next to it was another with water. The bird like a balanced diet.

When he was satisfied Will pulled over another chair and they held a silent conference. It only took a minute or two, but it seemed to be fully satisfying and complete for the Team Controller. Then he got up and opened the window again. Phil hopped/flew out again, he needed a few minutes to himself. A properly socialized Familiar needed his privacy for some things, you know.

Will silenced Leo's first questions, told him to wait until after the report was set down. He wouldn't even allow the TV to be turned on for the next hour. Then he tortured Leo with saying nothing as they mailed a package, went to dinner, or even on the trip back to the room. Then, Phil inside for the night, the window closed and the TV and the AC both on he filled in his teammate.

"Birds don't see things quite the way we do, but there's no doubt that the place is at least four times larger than the plans. That's just the main building, there are outbuildings too, some sort of sports stadium and patches of woods, as well as a dock with some sort of boats tied up. All non- viewable from either land or sea, at least for people. There are a ton of owls flying into the place and out, even though it's daytime. It got Phil nervous, some of them are a lot bigger than him and, well all owls are pure hunters you know.

He wasn't looking especially for them, but yeah, he didn't notice any lines coming in or out of the place. There were a bunch of people walking around on the grounds, some playing Frisbee or something like that, and they looked like they were dressed for some sort of Pilgrim's landing re-enactment. It seems to me, from the number of classrooms he saw, and some buildings in back that look like residencies , that they have a place that can handle several hundred students, at least. But we can't get any handle on that because…they aren't connected to the town water or sewage system. No, Phil didn't discover that, I checked before you got here.

They have variances for that kind of stuff. They only pay property tax on their official size and buildings. That must be a small fraction of what we know they have there. The place has been running, officially, since 1822. Before that it was called the Weatherwax Farm, and as far as I can see the surveys from there were the same as the false ones we have now.

As we already know that any type of electrical stuff, even the basics, starts to go haywire when it gets within 3 feet of the fence, damn, wall, if it isn't covered by someone with ETeek." Will gave a little nod to Leo there, acknowledging his talents, " we can't do some nifty hidden microphone or camera set up. Someone who doesn't get brain-scrambled will have to get in there and given a human-eye view, and collect some samples of what is going on. So Phil is out, and you are in. You get to earn the big bucks kid, don't you like being a grownup?"

The intrusion was scheduled for three days off, by that time the status report should have been received at the headquarters. It gave them time to actually do (on double pay) some real touristy things, mail some real touristy post cards, and allow Leo to appreciate that even in New England there were hot days, beaches and girls in swimsuits. He also did a bit of preparation. Just basic stuff, but things that fit into his skills and mission needs. Ten-Penny nails, super big diameter plastic straws, dark sail-mending thread, a sealed beam flashlight, a disposable camera with flash attachment, a backpack, pepper spray and latex gloves. It was too warm for any fancy ski masks or all covering 'ninja suits'.

On Thursday, July 8th they received confirmation that the submitted report had been received, and was being evaluated, and the recommendation for closer examination of the site was approved.

_____________________________________________________________________________________Author's Notes:

AGER: an acronym for an organization of people who have developed psionic abilities due to their ancestor's genes being effected either by exposure during their work on the Anglo-American or French, nuclear weapons projects, or being present near such explosions 1945-53. It is believed that Russian programs may not have had the same effect due to slightly different conditions. Or they could be wrong. Most people so exposed did not become suitably affected, and were either sterile or produced normal children.

2nd, 3rd generation indicate how many generations advanced the individuals are in the AGER program. A 1st generation would be the child of someone whose parents were not AGER emergent.

E-Teek-Electronic Telekinesis. Mental ability to manipulate electromagnetic energies, especially in machinery/gadgets. If you are good enough you become the Ghost in the Machine.

Hier-listen to people's thoughts. Number following indicate ability level, starting at 1, someone you are in physical contact with.

Spiek-put thoughts (though not commands) into people's minds.

Shell-ability to (passively) resist mental intrusions.

Pet-a sort of combined Hier and Spiek that works with animals. Animals that the user is familiar with, or have a particular affinity to, can let their memories be seen, or do very complex independent actions. Intelligent animals can remember and perform a series of complex actions even when not in mental contact with their handler. Some individuals have particular affinities with certain types, of animals, or even individual ones, such an animal is often called a Familiar. Higher Primates, Whales and Elephants seem to be outside the range of Pet influenced animals.

Teek-Telekinesis. Moving material by mental power. Low levels move the light and nearby. Highest levels can do a bit of light truck tossing. Allied with other Talents it can be used on the far side of intervening matter.

THC-the active ingredient in Marijuana.


	3. Chapter 3

I do not own or receive any benefits from the Harry Potter series.

Out of the West

Chapter 3- No plan survives the experience of meeting with reality. Or: it's all fun and games until…

Leo tied a rope to the trailer hitch on the rented pickup truck, then walked around to the driver's side and handed two envelopes to Will, who was swigging some bottled water and pain killers as he sat behind the wheel. One was addressed to Fermi, last thoughts on the mission. The other was to the Green family; the I love you, sorry for being such a pain growing up, tell the brats I love them type of letter that gets written when a young man realizes that the cutting edge of a great cause had narrowed itself down to just him. And that a cutting edge had a good chance of being broken.

"You doing Ok?" He asked the older man.

"I can handle it, just the longer I stay close to their defenses, the more I try to look up and try to actual see through the field the worse the headaches get. I'll just turn on some lite FM and try to do some mental handicapping on the American League pennant race. Forget what I said earlier, take two hours for your recon work, but I'm going to be here past dawn if I have to for your pickup."

"Thanks man, but you know, teenagers, we're immortal."

With that Leo walked back to the rear of the truck, picked up the rope and walked up to the fourteen or so foot tall wall nine feet in from the edge of the road. He tossed the end of the rope over the wall, then backed up into the road, got his bearings, put one of the large nails in his hand, and ran up to the wall, jumping at the last minute. As he reached the top of his jump he stabbed over his head with the nail, leaving a scratch mark on the brick, and turned to take the impact of hitting it with his shoulder, not his face. He landed well, and managed (barely) to keep his feet. Taking out his flashlight he turned it on to check out how high up the scratch mark was. The light that came out was barely visible, and Leo turned on his E-Teek and began to sense what was going on inside the flashlight. The power seemed to be sort of, well, sluggish and didn't want to flow. Leo "pushed" it a bit, and the light came on full power. He turned the beam up the wall and spotted how high up the mark was. He was sure now he could do this without taking out the sandbags and sheet of plywood from the back of the pickup and building a ramp.

He backed up a few steps further than before, made his mental preparations and began his run in, leaping at just about the same spot. This time as he pushed off he gave a hard mental "push" with his Teek (he didn't want to crunch his shoulder up against the bricks again). To his surprise he didn't just reach the top of the wall, but arched up high enough to have the top hit his chest. He slapped his hands down on the other side of the wall swung his legs up and over, till he was straddling the divider. He took out the flashlight again, noticed it took a good bit more encouragement to get it to work, and checked out the inside base of the wall. No moat or spikes or visible tripwires, just mowed grass with occasional shrubs along it to the right and left. He turned onto his stomach and wiggled his way over, finally dropping to the ground with a stagger and a trip.

He got to his feet and reached into the thigh pocket of his dark colored cargo pants, taking out a handful of large diameter plastic straws, each with a four inch long construction nail inside, the plastic tubes prevented the nails from rattling against each other and giving notice that someone sneaky was coming.

He turned the flashlight on; the effort to keep it lit seemed to be about the same as it was on the wall. Ahead about twenty yards was a patch of woods with a gravel path leading in. Leo went that way, keeping to the center. He was a city boy (well, more suburban really) from the West Coast, and he'd recently been having his ears filled with the joys of briars with two inch long thorns, Poison Ivy that could put you into the hospital, and other tales of joy in the woods. The place looked like it had been decorated by someone who made their living doing work for horror picture special effects departments. There were strings with bones on them hanging from branches, a nice little mist rising from some of the side paths, the works. Leo opened his notebook and made a quick sketch of the route he had taken, indicating each turning and side path. He continued down the main branch, it seemed to be going toward the south, the direction of the Main Building that could be seen from the gate. He wondered what he would be feeling if he didn't have his Shell. Demon faces in the tree bark, the sound of something following him? He decided to go a bit down one of the side trails.

Once he was on it, it was remarkably mundane. About twenty yards in it opened up into a small clearing with a small gazebo in it. Inside the gazebo there were some backless seats and a round table. He circled around the building and saw something light colored and fluttering near the foundation. He pumped up the light from the flash (it needed a little more attention around the shelter) and saw that it was an…intimate female undergarment. No doubt discarded in a moment of passion. While it would no doubt be of great value as a clue of the Academy students' habits Leo gave a pass at collecting it. After all, it might be a booby trap, and anyway if he was caught with it on him it would be a little... embarrassing to be carrying it.

He returned to the main path, made a note and went on. It seemed to go on a long way, longer than it should from how he would have thought, but at last he came to edge. It was lit by a quarter moon and he could see the Main Building about 300 yards away. He turned off the flashlight and stowed it. Behind the Main Building there were some other buildings that looked smaller. The path he was on seemed to split up into branches and he followed the one that led to the smaller buildings.

He walked upright and confident, that was what the official Boy's Own Spy Handbook (what he liked to call CIA Agent's Field Manual C-875) recommended, and hoped that the advice worked if you were on a private school grounds at two in the morning during summer break. That made him decide to check the time, he had a pick-up call at 3:30 AM after all. The watch wasn't working. He had just had batteries put in, what were… batteries, right. So, he had no idea what the time was, but he did know that dawn around here came before five, and he hadn't gone in until after 1:30. He decided to just get up to the buildings and scout around them and not waste too much time.

The buildings were three stories tall, with three windows along the short side, the center one for a stairwell leading to a locked exit that looked like it was for emergencies. There were nine sets along the back side, with another entrance on the other short side. Who ever had done the detail design had certainly had his Goth on. The walls were stone blocks, with lots of arched casements for the windows and vine-like decorations trailing up the walls, with what looked like gargoyles up at the tops of the rain gutters. Not exactly Southern California eclectic. Leo tried to look in through a ground level window and couldn't, he decided it was time for a little B&E (Breaking and Entering).

Getting around to northern side door he reached in with his Teek and began to feel around (looking like a safe cracker caressing the safe front). He was strong enough, and had enough skill in Sie (perceiving in the dark, or through things) that he could feel exactly how the door lock was, and that there were no burglar alarm sensors around the edges of the door. So he did a twist and a turn (the door lock seemed strangely "sticky", but he could force it) and it opened with a push. He went in, and gently closed it behind him.

Inside there was a stairwell going up, and a hallway with doors on each side all the way to the other end of the building. It looked a lot more 1950's dorm than 14th century Gothic inside. Leo went over to the first door on the right (why try to do anything fancy) and tried the handle, locked. So it was back to getting his mind in order and making the bolt in the lock retract, the door opening with a slight creak.

Inside was a dorm room. Two made beds, end tables, two desk/chair sets. Two large dressers and a walk in closet to either side of the door. Moonlight was coming in through the side window (it was a corner room with two windows) and the windows were crystal clear. Leo wondered why he hadn't seen anything when he had tried to look in. There were posters on the walls, and a few potted plants with what must have been automatic watering things, they were being left here over the whole summer after all. By each desk was an empty waste basket (one round wicker, one square and wooden) and there were bookshelves above each desk. He went over to the windows and pulled the thick curtains, then went over to the door again and looked for the light switch, not finding it.

Leo pulled out the flashlight and turned it on. He needed to really push to get it to light, and he found that if his attention wandered it would slowly dim and go out. He used the beam to sweep the room. There were candle holders, with a bit of wax dribble, on the desks and night tables, some books were in the shelves above the desks. The posters on one side had some mono-brow guy wearing academic robes holding some sort of pole, like a shovel handle. The posters on the other side looked to be of some sort of band that went heavy on the costumes and props; he looked back at the first ones. Yes, some of the posters had Mr. Mono straddling the pole, and made to look as if he was about 200 feet up in the air. The captions were along the line of "Krum!!!" and "Viktory with Viktor!!!" Leo's mom had long ago told him that anyone who used more than one exclamation mark at a time was seriously warped, Leo agreed. The fact that the figure in them seemed to move in repeated actions of soaring through a changing background and reaching up with one arm to catch a golden ball that was also moving was a bit disturbing also.

Leo went over to the dresser on the left, and opened the drawers one after the other. There was clothing in several including underwear of a feminine nature. Even thought they probably weren't trapped he passed on sample collecting of these also. Some of the clothes had normal company names on the tags (he noted these down), some, the odder pieces, had odder tags. He noted these down too.

He went over to one of the desks. Lying open was a paperback, basically a pamphlet, with the title "Cleaning Charms for the Beginning Student". It went into the backpack. He took out the camera and clicked the shutter. Of course the flash didn't work. Concentrating, he did it again and got some decent pictures of all the book spines on the shelves of both desks, as well as the posters. A few books and magazines that looked the most neglected and pushed back on the shelves went into his pack. He noticed that there was no dust on the desks or shelves. The room hadn't been used for weeks, there should have been some.

Ok, it was a dorm room, girl's dorm. Would they have some things hidden? He went over to the beds, hospital corners on the covers. Lifting the mattress up gently he saw… stuff that told him an awful lot about girls he never knew before, but which he decided wasn't really anybodies business but the owner/user's. He then figured he'd check out under the other bed, and sent down on his knees and looked under the frame, and saw two huge eyes looking back.

As a long bony arm came out at him Leo did his best imitation of teleporting to the other end of the room, clawing at the thigh pocket of his pants. Something impossibly tall unfolded itself out from under the bed while Leo finally was able to grab a fistful of the encased nails and held them out in front of himself. It took a step toward him, grinned: showing rows of large triangular teeth, and drew back its arm for a slash.

Suddenly there was a loud knock on the door, a shout:"Who's in there!" That made it jerk it's head around to look in the direction the sound had come from. Using the time given to him by the distraction Leo used all his strength to "push" each nail in turn out of the holder, hearing most smack into the creature. Only one missed and stuck with a crack into the wall. The thing screamed out and grabbed it's chest, then fell over. With the camera still in his left hand Leo snapped a picture. There was another shout from out in the corridor, and Leo heard the door lock suddenly click. He jumped up and toppled one of the dressers into the way of the door opening, then ran to the corner window and threw it open and dived outside. He hit the ground rolling, then turned and used Teek to close the window again, and did his best to sprint the next 400 yards to the woods line.

Once there he turned and checked to see if he was being followed. Coming out of the nearest end door of the building was someone, he was holding something that looked like a lit flare in his hand, lighting up a circle perhaps ten yards around. There was something black, about waist high with it's head down to the ground. It looked up, and then seemed to start trotting the way Leo had run off, with its head down to the ground, moving real fast. Leo decided that he had done enough to catch his breath and then started off as fast as he could manage down the path.

Leo broke out of the woods and quickly spotted the white rope against the dark bricks. Then he heard something going "woof" behind him and crossed the twenty yards to it in about four long steps. He hit the wall at the run, grabbed the rope at the top of his jump and went up it like a scared squirrel up a tree.

At the top he looked down and saw a big black blob of something crouching as if it was about to jump. Leo rolled off the top, hitting the ground hard, but got back on his feet and limped as quickly as he could to the pickup. Will had actually dozed off, and woke with a jerk when Leo yelled:"Get ready to go, now!" Then Leo went to the back of the truck and started to pull in the rope. It almost immediately went taut, and was jerked out of his hands. He decided that rather than spend the next few minutes playing a losing game of tug of war with a few hundred pounds of something on the other end of the rope he would dazzle it with science.

So he jumped into the truck on the passenger side and said: "Just go."

Whatever was on the other end of the rope wasn't up to resisting a few tons of steel moving at 40mph, and the rest of the line came over the wall pretty quickly. After about a quarter mile Will pulled over, and seeing how shook up Leo was, went out and threw it into the truck. Then he got back in and headed for the Interstate. They'd already checked out of the motel, and they were heading for the rest station on the Mass Pike where their next vehicle was waiting.

A week later Albert Fermi was looking at a small group of things spread out on a large table. A few pictures of bookshelves, one of a creature unknown to science, a few books (with a handwritten label on the inside cover saying "Property of Amy Madison") that claimed to teach: basic housekeeping by magic, charms for the style conscious witch, elementary transfiguration, and a book on divination with many annotations of the nature "impossible" and "contradicts page 43." There were also a few magazines, with pictures that moved in a short, closed loop of action. Evidently Most Charming Smile was a big thing for these people; most of one edition seemed to be obsessed with the contest they were running about this valuable quality. Most of the publishing data in the books and magazines indicated a British origin. Fermi had some good contacts in MI5 over there; perhaps catching some of the London shows with the family over Christmas was in order. Meanwhile the artifacts would have the hell analyzed out of them.

Green had been shook up a bit, but he'd snapped back. The kid had potential. It was a shame, Fermi kind of liked him, but tools that worked were used, until they broke.


	4. Chapter 4

I do not own, or receive any benefit from Harry Potter materials.

Out of the West

Chapter 4- Good hosts try to entertain their guests.

As Leo settled into the overstuffed first class seat on the Nippon Airways jet leaving LAX he looked up at the overhead storage compartment. He had five, or maybe ten, of his children up there, as well as perhaps twenty others from other young third generation AGER members. Up there was a hyper insulated carry on box filled with sperm samples and frozen solid nitrogen to keep them fresh. He wasn't exactly sure how he had ended up as an "International Ambassador of Good Will", probably due to all the other candidates having a real life.

He _had _been able to get, well if not a motorcycle, a scooter by the end of the summer. It _had _impressed Agnes Willard, as did the amount of spending money he had after his East Coast trip. She _had_ been a lot of fun as a girl friend, maybe not as _physical _in her affections as he might have wanted (but that might have been for the best anyway) but certainly not cold or totally prudish. But the fall season meant football, which meant cheerleaders (which Agnes was, of course, one), which meant football players, some with their own convertibles. And that seemed to mean that Sophomore shortstops lose their girlfriends. She had been nice at the breakup; he had pretended to take it without pain, while quietly wishing all sorts of horrible things to happen to her. But time had healed that wound too, and now he was just a little lonely and not angry at all. And bored enough to volunteer to be an International Ambassador of Good Will (at full per diem and expenses) and hand over his (and four other fine young American and Canadian youths) frozen sperm to the Japanese group that called themselves the Children of the Fire. The descendents (psionically mutated variety) of the survivors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

It probably mattered that there was a bit of him in the sample kit. It made things so much more _personal_ than having some middle aged guy turn the box over, or sending it FedEx. Leo knew another reason was that he had proven that he could both follow the program, and improvise when that option went south. So he memorized a few generally useful phrases (directions, bodily functions, requesting emergency aid) and a diplomatically insincere turnover speech. The whole thing was supposed to happen on Christmas Day, convenient for all parties. Then a few days of conducted tours and back home. Leo wondered if the girl who was coming out from Narita airport with a box of frozen eggs destined for AGER controlled fertility clinics was looking forward to the event with quite the same feelings he was. He also wondered if she was pretty; was the love of his life potentially missing him while they passed each other at 30,000 feet? Oh well, not likely. He pulled out a paperback copy of Edith Hamilton's _Mythology _to pass the time.

Eight hours later, after a nap, a meal and a restroom break (and the restrooms up in first class didn't have much more space than the ones in Coach where he usually flew) Leo started thinking again of the whole business he was involved in. He figured that, theoretically, he could be a father over thirty times before he, not just got married, but even just got together with a girl. After his sixteenth birthday, as a successful emergent, he had contributed sperm (a not too exciting process) to be stored in controlled fertility clinics (no confidentiality for AGER) in case he died before leaving any descendents. And Leo was sure that "in addition to" children from marriage was implied also. Japan was running a major surplus of female emergents on a smaller base population, so to prevent too much inbreeding his (future) flesh and blood was being used as a bargaining chip to cement alliances, or at least to lessen certain persistent frictions. Leo contemplated two years up the road, when his sister Liz hit 16 and had half her eggs harvested. She was showing abilities in Shell, Sie, ETeek and MicTeek. Girls _did_ seem to mature faster than boys; she had his emergences beat by at least a year and a half. Aaron, at seven, was even better at finding ways to be annoying, and showing enough Pet to have the local Fire Ant colony acting as his drill team. Done with reminiscing, Leo pulled out his copy of the presentation speech and started going over it again. Damned if he was going to mess it up.

Eventually, one way or the other, all voyages end. This one had a cardboard sign being waved at Narita airport, an unusually quick slip through Customs and a ride in a really nice car to a surprisingly large house in Itabashi Ward. There Leo was shown down to the basement where a deepfreeze had been installed for the occasion, and where he put the freezer box. He was then shown to the Reception Room (he guessed) and Mr. Kato (1st generation) presented his wife (non-emergent) and his college aged children, Aimi (2nd generation: Hier 2 & Sie 1) and Bunko (2nd generation: MicTeek 3, Sie 1). Leo bowed and stumbled through with all the politest Japanese he could dredge up from his jet-lagged brain. The ceremony was to take place in two days, with three days more before he caught his flight back.

Leo was as undemanding and cooperative guest as he knew how to be for the next two days. It seemed to warm up Mr. Kato, not that he hadn't been a good host from the start. Mrs. Kato seemed (though she had forgotten most of her school-learned English years ago) to take up the role of a very fond and indulgent aunt. Aimi and Bunko were up and about with their school friends that he hardly saw them. On the day of the big show he managed to make some decent pancakes and coffee for breakfast for the Kato's and managed to compliment Mrs. Kato's dress even though they had basically no words in common to use. They loaded up the car, and Leo rode to the ceremony (at the Nihon University Medical Lecture Hall) with the freezer box on his lap.

The hand-over ceremony went well, five minutes of his speech in English that he felt about half of the attendees half understood (almost two thirds of the emergent population of Japan had shown up, 150 of 1st through 3rd generations). Then two hours of speeches in Japanese that he had no clue about (but politely didn't yawn during) and all concluded with much clapping and bowing.

Mrs. Kato and the girls were whisked off to some women's only function, with a promise that they would be taxied home, while Mr. Kato and Leo (everyone called him just Greensan, as they wanted to avoid the dreaded "L" sound) were escorted to a restaurant with a private dining room.

Leo was kind of disappointed that there weren't any Geisha emergents. The importance of the occasion merited Geishas to do the serving, but as non-emergents (the term "norm" or "normal" was becoming more common to refer to those unfortunates) they couldn't be shown what was really going on. The result was that as each of the twenty or so party goers (average age in the '60's) got progressively drunker and tried to show off their "party tricks" they had to do things like dance, sing, and try to flip lighted cigarettes into their mouths without burning their tongues. Leo wished he could see how they used their abilities. They might be from older generations, and these tended not to be as strong or versatile as the higher ones, but that would mean that they had been working up their skills and neat tricks for far longer. As this was all going on in Japanese Leo was missing a lot, though he gamely kept on smiling and knocking back the beer and sake that he would never have been allowed to drink back home. His party trick was walking on his hands around the table with a glass full of beer balanced on his chin, completing over a full circuit before someone tripped him and he got a beer shampoo. It went over well; all those with the ability could tell he wasn't using Teek at all.

When the party broke up well after 2AM whatever arrangements that had been made for getting people home had broken down completely. Leo half-carried Mr. Kato back to the car, looked at the happy and incoherent man, and buckled him in the passenger side. With the arrogance of the drunk and adolescent he then pulled a map out and plotted the way back to the Kato residence.

The half hour trip only took an extra hour, even driving on the (for him) wrong side of the road hadn't cost Leo his confidence, being lost was merely an adventure in his condition. When he pulled the car into the driveway he was careful not to lose a door or anything in the close maneuvering. Getting Mr. Kato out, locking up everything behind him and getting both of them into the house before any collapsing required 120% of his concentration, but he even remembered to take off his shoes on getting inside. The sound of the shoes hitting the floor woke Mrs. Kato up, she had been sleeping sitting up in the reception room. She shuffled over quickly and took her limp husband; Leo handed him over, gave her a sloppy kiss on the forehead and mumbled: "He's yours now." He started to stumble to his waiting futon, then sighed and turned around and went back to help the slender women drag her husband into their bedroom, and helped lift him up onto the bed. _Then_ he managed to finally stagger into his room and collapse. His own guest room, no hilarious mistakes or romantic confusions for him. In his current state that was exactly what he wanted.

After a mere ten hours of sleep the most evil man in the world started shaking his shoulder and woke him up. Woke him to his first ever (and Leo promised himself, _last_ ever) hangover. The man was a few years older than Leo, and introduced himself as Ito Masahiko. He shoved a portable phone into Leo's hand after punching in a number, and the un-beloved voice of Albert Fermi poured into his ear.

"Give Mr. Ito all possible aid and support. He will brief you on a situation that seems very serious. Allow for cultural differences. Assume that vigorous measures may be needed, and prepare accordingly. Appropriate changes will be made in your mission status, retroactive. Mr. Ito has my full confidence." Leo confirmed he had heard this, and then the line went dead.

Ito went into the Kato kitchen while Leo dragged himself into the bathroom, soaked his head in cold water and took what he really hoped was four aspirin to stop the pounding in his head. After emptying his bladder and pretending to brush his teeth he managed to get to the kitchen, joining Ito in a breakfast of tea, miso, rice and an omelet that Mrs. Kato had prepared. Mr. Kato had yet to put in an appearance. Leo thanked Mrs. Kato and responded to Ito's question if they would have to delay things while he raided an army base by saying everything he would need was already here.

And it was. In the days Leo had been in the house he had seen that the girls had been Girl Scouts, the family had prepared for a bad typhoon season, and all the Kato's smoked. So the basement yielded a metal tipped walking stick 5 feet long, a hatchet in a leather sheath, a coil of rope, a flashlight, and a back pack with some two year expired camping rations. Upstairs he picked up a full can of lighter fluid, a Zippo lighter, some bottled juice, antiseptic cream and a roll of gauze, and with Mrs. Kato's permission he took her biggest chef's knife (a good 10" of blade) in its plastic holder. With his normal Swiss Army knife, pocket full of plastic covered nails, pencil and notebook, and new Cannon camera with lots of film he felt as equipped as he could be with the information he had. A good hooded coat, gloves, and waterproof boots competed things. He followed Ito out front to his vehicle, an older model Toyota 4X4 with some stout wooden boxes in the back seat area. It had taken less than half an hour since he had been woken up, and now he felt he was back in trouble again.

Author's Note:

I'd like to thank Nathan Huss for doing a lot of hard Beta reading, and not losing his temper over my rabid defense of each word (including misspelled ones) and item of punctuation.


	5. Chapter 5

I do not own or receive any benefits from Harry Potter materials.

Out of the West

Chapter 5- The perils of a good education.

As Ito Masahiko drove aggressively out of the civilized borders of Tokyo and its immediate suburbs (very aggressively; he evidently considered speed limits and traffic regulations more as timid suggestions than laws) he spent perhaps a quarter of the time he wasn't cursing out slower or more law abiding drivers on what they were doing going 80 miles per hour toward Chichibutama National Park. It would have been faster, but the road was designed and paved in the late fifties when the idea that 45mph would be daring and swift enough when you were heading toward a mountainous area of unspoiled natural beauty.

Evidently among the other natural wonders of the area there were a few personal residences of those too wealthy to be dispossessed, some famous hot springs that were too much the favorite of the Tokyo elite to shut down, and a very few temples of such sanctity that clearing them out would have caused an uproar among the religious population. In one of those temples, small but a true gem there was a goddess of a shrine maiden, a miko of such beauty and purity that… Ito finally ran out of superlatives and came to the meat of the matter. The miko was a twelve year old 4th generation emergent named Miura Chuko, just coming into her abilities. There had been an unexpected and anomalous shaking of the earth and contact with that part of the Park had been cut off. When Park officials, earlier that day, had gone in to see if the temple, its' staff and any visitors needed help the two man crew reported in up until they got close to the Temple area, then went off the air. A second bunch followed this up a few hours later, and evidently had the same problems. The affair was kicked up to the Prefectural Police who sent in a team of emergency workers with an escort of police. When they went off the air there was a good deal of screaming. By this time, the Children of the Fire had gotten an alert through their network of informants. A helicopter from the Police had reported troubles when trying to fly in and observe, and had landed roughly a dozen kilometers from center of the disturbance. It was still in radio communication, but with very bad reception. A Special Armed Response Team was going to be sent (those screams had been over regular government frequencies and had been heard by too many to pretend they didn't happen) to handle things. The trouble was that there wasn't enough time to make sure the team was "reliable". "Reliable" meaning under enough control of the Children of the Fire to not blab about anything odd that happened.

Accordingly Ito and Leo (still "Greensan") were to meet up with two "reliable" local residents and go in first to get the lay of the land and get the girl out before the larger and slower team could be assembled and get moving. Leo noticed that Ito didn't seem to care much about any other people from the Temple. And he had a tendency to call the Police, Park staff and their local guides "peasants", with a certain emphasis that suggested it was a cover-up word for "untouchable", or perhaps only "unclean domestic animal".

Ito was talking to Leo in a way that showed that the foreign boy was only a notch and a half above this, and used the rest of the time revealing his own, unmatched and unrivaled qualities: Teek -5, Hier-2 and Pyro-3. Useful, even powerful, but not the pinnacle of emergent society either. Leo was getting a rather sympathetic view of the local authorities. Anybody Ito was badmouthing probably had many fine qualities.

After about an hour they got off the main, or at least the paved, roads and were going up dirt tracks that had Leo admit Ito had been dead on target by having a four wheel drive car for this jaunt. The windshield was the fold down type, there was no doors or top for the car so both of them were getting whipped by branches as they went up and down rises at a safe and sane fifty miles an hour (back home Leo knew that this type of trail would have been listed for 25mph). Another half hour brought them to a wider stretch of the road where two men waited just off to the side. Ito stopped with a screech of brakes and turned off the ignition. He just left the car in the middle, considering the amount of traffic they'd seen lately it wasn't even any too inconsiderate.

Ito had a quick conversation with men, then came back to the car and opened up the boxes in the back seat. He took out a pistol and gave it to Leo and a honking long sword for himself.

"That is a Nambu M1914 my Great Grandfather had to wear when he was a serving officer, be honored to use it!"

Leo held it in his hand and looked at it. It was the oddest looking thing with a butt that seemed to be squeezed small in the middle and swelling above and below. All the metal parts were highly polished and the wood of the grips were varnished a bright red. He used his ability to Sie to check out the inside of the piece. There were scratches where metal had rubbed against metal rather than slid smoothly, some pins holding things together were almost worn away and about to let go, the seven bullets in the magazine had pitted corrosion around their bases. Only one thing to do in a case like this!

"I must decline the honor; my clumsiness ensures that this precious artifact of your family would be damaged, I could never allow such a thing to happen. I will be more than safe enough under the protection of your powerful sword."

'Ha! No mere katana is this, but a true Nodachi, the weapon used by Samurai when skill and bravery mattered more than peasant firepower! Long enough to strike a man down from a horse, sharp enough to cut through armor and the flesh below!" The closer they had gotten the more Ito's speech had begun to resemble a coach's inspirational speech before a game.

Leo was thankful enough that he got to put pistol down. That damn thing looked more dangerous to him than anyone he might have pointed it at. He had gone shooting after school with Jimmy Devries and Tom Hutchins once, and when he'd looked inside Jimmy's 22cal rifle it had looked clean and safe, at least for the user. After about ten shots he had actually gotten the hang of how to aim it. He was sure that by the time he figured out how to use the Nambu he would have either run out of ammo, or had it blow his hand off.

They headed up what looked like an animal trail, up and down some steep hills, with marshy meadows down between them. Not exactly the most fun thing for someone in the last stages of his first hangover. Luckily the guides leading them were no more than Leo's size, and had fairly short legs. Ito had a good four inches on him and was long legged too boot. He made some impatient noises, Leo still hadn't picked up nearly enough Japanese to understand the complaints, but the tone was clear enough.

After a rest stop that Ito had reluctantly granted, certainly five or more kilometers down the trail (and no doubt a bit more if you figured in the ups and downs) they came over a ridge that looked down over a narrow valley with a road in it leading up to the temple on the hill opposite. On the road were two cars and two extended cab pickup trucks. They looked official (the paint job gave them away) and the front doors of each was open. It was all odd, the road looked to be covered with a few inches of water, and the tips of regular grass and weeds poked up from out of the water on either side of the road.

Ito was about to go running down to the cars, and then straight up the road to the Temple. Leo put his hand on his shoulder to restrain him, and nearly got it chopped off.

"The camera has a telephoto option, I'll check out what we can see from here," Leo said as he pulled the camera out of it's case. He put it up to his eye, and pushed the toggle to push the telescopic lens out. Nothing happened. Feeling an unhappy feeling of déjà vu Leo looked inside the device and saw how the little motor wasn't working, the little battery not sending out any power and knew he was back in a world where things didn't make sense and the things that go bump in the night had come to visit.

He took a calming breath, accepted that reality wasn't quite so real any more, and used his E-Teek to get the camera working. The amount of effort needed was at least as much as he had needed at Salem. Since there didn't seem anything strange going on nearer than the water fifty yards away it meant that the weird stuff (call if Force X) was a lot stronger.

He swept the camera across the area in front, speaking as he did and depending on Ito to translate for the others: "Besides the water by the road there is a small lake on the left of the temple hill. The road the cars are on goes up to the right, sure you can see it, but there are things on it, looks like some sort of a flood dropped them there. I'm looking at the cars, one of the front windshields is broken in, there's something over by the second one, and it's pretty much on the other side. It looks to be a leg. If there's someone attached I'd say he was floating face down about two yards, sorry, meters on the other side near the rear bumper. Now I see a few more bodies in the water. I'm looking up and across to the temple, some damage and the roof has fallen in some places. Some people have just came into view, on the left of the porch, somebody's pushing them back, bright colored robes, can't get any details."

While Leo was giving his verbal survey the Special Armed Response Team showed up in two vehicles on the road below. Finding it blocked they pulled their vehicles off and kept going on slowly past the blockage. The three small trucks jerked to a stop when people began to rise out of the submerged field and approached them. Ito's group (Leo had no illusions who was in charge) started to go down the hill to see what was going on. Ito, no doubt, thought he could just walk in and start ordering people around.

Then they heard yelling, and pistol shots. The Response Team was being charged by locals, and being ripped up pretty bad by hand alone. Ito's group was already half down the hill, at his urging they just went faster.

Down on the flats they slogged through the water and mud as fast as they could, they were close enough to the fight at the trucks to see the attackers were looking pretty ugly, not just muddy, but semi-rotted. They didn't have any weapons but even when they were hit by bullets they just didn't seem to care. Some of the remaining men from the Response Team were using hand-to-hand, and it seemed to do better, but unless they were able to actually break an arm or leg it didn't do more than just throw one attacker away for a minute, while another two closed in. The last policeman trying to use a firearm was pulled down into the muck just as they arrived.

Leo rushed to where he had seen the policeman submerged. Two of the, well to be honest, they looked like Halloween zombies to him, were pushing down on something submerged. Leo stepped in and gave the walking stick the kind of swing his baseball coach had drilled into him. As the head of an (ex)-human was far larger than a fastball (and not moving) the stick hit it with a hard and sweet "crack", knocking the thing off it's feet. The other one didn't even look up. Leo 'grabbed' with his Teek, and pushed it onto it's backside. The policeman, using the last of his strength, pushed himself up like a submarine doing an emergency surfacing. The thing Leo had Teeked slowly got to its' feet and advanced, right into another swing. Both the arm that was brought up to block the swing and the stick shattered together. Despite a right forearm dangling like a broken wing it just silently came on toward him again. Leo reversed the three foot long stump of the stick, pointed the metal tip at it's chest and charged in himself, giving himself a Teek boost at the last minute. It went in the front, and exited the rear by six inches at least. Leo collided with the walking corpse and they both fell into the water. Leo was on top and pushed the rest of the stick as hard as he could, trying to pin the thing underwater. It certainly seemed to be working, but the thing didn't seem to need to breath and Leo felt the grip of the bony left hand grabbing him and trying to bring him under the surface.

With the kind of controlled panic Leo had been having too often in the last year he pushed away grasping fingers with one hand while unsnapping the strap holding the hatchet he had borrowed this morning. Then in a berserk frenzy he smashed it down again and again into the water. Even when he felt the grip on his hand stop he kept on hacking at broken skull he could see dimly in the muddy water. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and dived off the corpse and did a creditable roll onto his feet before he recognized it was the policeman he had just saved. Leo managed not to break the cop, but in the mood he was in it had been a close call.

Checking around him he saw that the first one he had hit was still not moving. Ok, severe head injury was effective, even if piercing wounds weren't. Hearing loud cries of "Hai. Hai" he looked over to his right. Ito was in hog heaven. He was practically running on top of the water and his big katana, no, nodachi was taking off limbs and heads as if he had been practicing for weeks. Knowing him even a little, Leo thought that he had been.

As Leo got up on the road; it seemed to be a little less submerged, natural drainage was probably kicking in. He started to head up it to the temple where he could still see a clot of human sized figures facing a whirling dot of red and green, with occasional flashes like the afternoon sun glistening off of metal. Ito finished off the last of the visible zombies and danced over the surface of the water to join him. He must have been in good shape as well as a Teek- 5 to do that so easily. They passed many bits and pieces and torsos floating in the waters.

Ito was walking beside him, and mumbling like someone who wasn't completely connected to the world around him, or at least the one Leo was seeing. The Japanese warrior started to veer off the clear and firm road and into the soggy field beside it, waving his hand in front of this face as if there were branches or something in front of him. Leo finally got it; someone was feeding visions into Ito's mind, pure and straight hallucinations. Leo knew that he couldn't shield Ito directly, but at least there was something he could do.

"Itosama! Put your hand on my shoulder as we walk. You are being attacked through your superb mental abilities. I, mind blind to such things, will lead you through the maze of deceit!"

As Ito followed his instructions Leo figured it had been, all in all, a fine job of buttering up an egomaniac. Maybe he did have a future in this diplomacy thing, or maybe he could write poor dialog for comic books. Meanwhile they made good time up the road and reached where it left the water entirely as it started to climb the hill the temple was on.

"Itosama, get ready for some action, you may not see it but in the lake on our left there is a kind of V shaped wave heading right toward us"

Leo turned to face whatever was coming; it looked like some of those Loch Ness Monster photos that showed something moving underwater, just not what it was. He pulled out a handful of his trusty straw wrapped nails, while Ito moved off about six feet to his right and took up a stand, left leg slightly forward, sword held in both hands and cocked slightly over his right shoulder. Leo used his Teek to bring the hatchet into his left hand.

About ten yards from the road edge the wave suddenly grew higher, turning into a solid object as large as a whale beaching itself up on the dry land. Except whales don't have too many giant snake like heads on the ends of forty foot long necks.

The head nearest to Leo slashed down at him, to be met by a hail of three inch long nails moving a good bit faster than a bullet from a Nambu M14 would have. Two hit, one glancing off the skull bone, the other hitting more squarely and burying itself up to its' head. The snake mouth opened and let loose a kind of hissing scream as the head flipped back out of reach of the pain-giver. Another head came at him from the right; he just caught it in the corner of his eye. He dodged back a step and a Teek enhanced swing with the back of the hatchet. It hit with a crack as bone was shattered. Again the long neck hauled the injured head away. Leo checked out the first one he had hit. And saw the nail slowly being pushed out of the skull it was embedded in, and then falling to the ground. Certainly bad news.

Evidently the thing's pain had done something to clear the air of mental confusion. Ito, now as close to reality as he ever was, had leaped a good thirty feet into the air and slashed the nodachi in a powerful cut that completely severed one of the necks three feet back of the head. He landed on the water, and used his Teek to bounce off its' surface like a trampoline up into the air again for another slash.

Leo was too slow dodging and was smacked off his feet by the neck Ito had just chopped, rolling at least ten feet until he could stop and get his bearings again. He was on the far edge of the road, and out of range of the beast, unless it managed to push itself higher up away from the lake. He noticed two things now: 1- The beast had huge front flippers. 2- Where Ito had cut off the head a new one was emerging from the bleeding cut, nose first. Very bad news.

He pushed himself to his feet and at the new head before it had got itself properly out of the cut and swung the edge of the hatchet with everything he could put into it and cut it off about half way down the snout. The he watched, panting as a new snout begun to come out of the cut. Finally a connection was made from his memory to his problem. He shrugged off the backpack he was carrying and reached into the large compartment for the metal can had picked up at the Kato's. He swung the hatchet around in front of the hissing head that couldn't quite reach him and yelled out: "Ito, cut off this one, now!"

Ito had been bouncing around in a series of aggressive attacks on the creature. It had never had anyone attack it from above before and couldn't figure out exactly how to time its grabs and snaps. Having a five foot long razor sharp sword didn't hurt Ito's offensive power much either. Currently the creature was short another head, and one more was hanging on by a ribbon of flesh. The one Leo had cracked was completely healed again.

Each head seemed to think and target for itself because as Ito shifted his movement so that he came at Leo's target from the rear it didn't seem to get any warning and kept on snapping at the boy. As soon as he saw Ito head his way Leo dropped the hatchet, unscrewed the can cap and squeezed out a glob of lighter fluid into the air, holding it in a ball with his Teek. As Ito began his decent, blade moving in a perfect arc Leo reached into his pocket and grabbed the Zippo lighter and brought it out, flipping open the lid. As Ito's slash parted the head from the neck Leo guided the ball of fluid onto the neck stub and used his thumb to ignite the lighter ("Lights first time, every time") and tossed it close enough to ignite the fuel. As Ito landed the fuel went up in a fierce ball of flame, searing the bleeding cut closed, even as the severed head twitched and shuddered on the ground. From some of the other, still intact heads came a noise like giant tea kettles blowing off steam.

Ito looked at Leo and wondered why this head was special (unless the foreigner was even more cowardly than he had supposed and had just panicked). Leo looked at long neck, starting to go limp, but most importantly _not _growing a new head.

"Like Hercules and the Hydra, cut and cook the bastards." Leo told him. Ito had very little idea what that all meant until he looked to where Leo was staring, and saw that there was no new head sprouting. He smiled, and grabbed the can of lighter fluid and bounced off ("just like Tigger" Leo thought) toward the main cluster of heads and necks.

As this left Leo with very little ability to permanently damage the Hydra (or whatever poetic name something like this would have in Japanese folklore), he picked up the hatchet and set off up the road, and up the hill toward the temple. When he had gone about fifty yards further, and thirty feet higher, he looked back at the battle, and saw that the beast had haled itself off of the dry land and was trying to get to water deep enough to submerge itself completely. It already had two more flaming necks, heads twitching on the ground, while Ito was screaming at the top of his lungs as he jumped. Now the heads were attempting to avoid him rather than angle for a bite. Leo wanted to call him back to the main task, but it was obvious he wasn't going to hear anything until he had either finished off the Hydra, or it had gotten somewhere he couldn't follow.

As he went on up he started to hear sounds coming from ahead. Some sort of chanting, and something that sounded like high pitched cheers. He also started to take inventory on himself and took out the last five nails. He had the chef's knife and hatchet. He had his Swiss Army knife. Everything else had been dropped or lost along the way. He didn't feel up to carrying any extra weight anyway. His left side felt just like it had when he'd been hit by a fastball and broken some ribs. On his right hand the last two fingers weren't pointing quite the right way. There were some burnt spots on his face and hands where some drops of burning lighter fuel had been shaken off the cut neck when it had snapped around. Well, as long as it hadn't hit his eye, he figured everything was good enough. He just wished he wasn't so tired and short of breath.

As he went on up the road did some switch backs and about halfway up broadened into a wide terrace, with a set of broad, shallow stairs continuing upwards. He passed a body, pretty much cut in half. From the looks, and smell, it hadn't been alive for a long time.

He came up to wide landing on the stairs, looked backwards and saw Ito running across the surface of the water slashing at something beneath him. Leo turned around and saw about twenty steps further up a Japanese man in a strange outfit of furs and strings yelling something to another bunch of the not-quite-dead-enough. Some of them looked like they had never been human to begin with, but all were rotted. The man did another chant and a black streak about the size of a baseball bat, and moving as fast as decent pitch hit a detached head lying near a body. It snapped back onto the neck like it was magnetized and the body lurched back to its feet and stumbled back up the stairs to the front lines of combat.

There, hopping into view was small, doll-cute girl in a red and brown and yellow kimono trying to drive them back. She was swinging a long pole, with a blade almost as long. The combination must have been nearly twice her height, but she was managing it somehow. Her face was calm, but there was a sheen of sweat over it. As she reached the top of one of her jumps the man shot out another attack, this one red colored at her. Somehow she flipped and twisted in mid-air and it missed her body by a hair's width.

Leo tried to climb further up the stair, he felt that he was in no shape for long range work. But he left leg gave out on him and he fell, grunting with pain as his side hit the stone stairs. The man above him turned with a jerk, then gabbled out something and a sickly green ball of something came out of his hand and flew at Leo. Leo Teeked his handful of nails at it, and tried to roll over to the right. When the steel nails intercepted the ball an explosion erupted, ripping them to pieces. Leo felt several pieces impact him, but everything felt distant. He slowly got to his feet, and managed to make it up another two stairs and shifted the hatchet to his right hand. Despite his twisted fingers he managed to get a grip on it.

The man lifted his hand again, Leo saw that there was some sort of a jewel strapped to the palm. Leo tried to throw the hatchet, but it didn't reach high enough to even threaten his feet. Leo put everything he had left into using his Pyro to set the man's fringed vest on fire, and managed to get it smoking. The enemy screamed out something and pointed his hand at himself, the fire snuffed out. Leo pulled out the knife and tried to crawl up another few steps, the man above began another rhythmic phrase that stopped as a long blade sliced through his neck and took his head cleanly off.

The young girl holding the blade tried to do another flip in the air to get her feet in the right position to land, but couldn't handle the steps. She landed off balance and stumbled forward on to the landing, barely catching herself before her face hit the stone. She lay there for a moment, before getting herself up to her hands and knees, then holding herself that way, panting heavily.

Leo tried to turn himself around to help her. Even though she was only a half dozen steps down she looked so far away. Everything outside of his direct line of vision had long ago began to get hazy and indistinct. Finally he decided that she was probably doing better than he was at the moment and just collapsed in place.

Leo came to feeling terrible. He had thought waking up with a hangover was bad, now he had a much better idea what pain was. The good parts were there, though. He was lying down on a futon under a blanket, his hand had splinted and the girl he assumed was Miura Chuko was kneeling next to him putting some sort of salve on the burns on his face and hands. After she had finished that she lifted up the blanket and spread her hands over his chest. She began to speak in a strange and ritualistic sounding voice, while her hands slowly began to glow a faint blue. The pain slowly reduced, a look of weariness and pain came over her face. She suddenly caught her breath, and the glow faded. Suddenly she smiled and in a pure toned voice said: "Konnichi wa Bushisama no Yabanjin."

Looking at her Leo decided that Ito had been pretty near the mark. She was about the cutest thing he'd ever seen. Even his sister Liz was out-dimpled, and he doubted that Miura had ever done a full force pout in her life. She had changed into a blue and white flower patterned kimono, and had both washed up and treated the blisters she's gotten on her hands from wielding a pole arm for over an hour. She must be made of spring steel under her tan skin to keep going that long, with the kind of leaps he had seen her doing.

She got to her feet with a small lurch, and went over to where one of the policemen was sitting in a chair, his right arm in a sling. She smiled, put her hand on his shoulder and began to talk to him. Ito was strutting around in the background with a frown on his face, like a peacock trying to display for a female and getting annoyed at being ignored.

A man dressed as a medical technician came over to Leo and started to rig him up with an IV drip. After that the technician gave him an injection and Leo was out again. He woke up the next time as he was being transferred from an ambulance onto a gurney at a hospital. A week-long stay there and got to experience the pleasures of being one of those who rode their wheelchair into the plane. The amount of attention and service he got from the stewardesses on the flight back to the States was enough to give him a new definition of "First Class" travel.

Three weeks later Kato Daisuke put his feet up as he lounged in his completely decadent reclining chair and opened the information copy that had come by secure courier that morning. It was Green's debriefing on his trip into the Chichibutama National Park. It was very different from Ito Masahiko's rather freeform report that would be finished "soon". Being Ito's prospective father-in-law had allowed Kato to go over to his house and get a look at the very rough draft. Green's report had no heroes, no self congratulation, and had credit given to others besides himself. In short it was actually useful. After having spent twenty five years in the Tokyo Central Police Detective's Bureau Kato had seen enough reports that obscured, hid with misdirection or were just sloppy . He always appreciated one that told things clearly, and had no hidden (or even open) agenda of self advancement.

Of course it didn't hurt that Green had replaced his lost Zippo with a classic 1936 model in bronze. The Lladro' sculpture of two cranes Green had sent (with the little note of thanks to Mrs. Kato, and the comment that any good taste that was being shown was strictly his mother's in helping him pick it out) had gone over big with the Mrs., and gave an international flair to their reception room. Kato had found out that he had even sent an art book to Miurasama, with classic American paintings showcased. That had given her ample ammunition to talk about things other than Ito when he had gone sniffing around her a few weeks ago. Kato was starting to think about re-evaluating Ito's engagement to Aimi. He might be a strong emergent, and come from a good family, but to be chasing after other women even before his marriage, and an underage girl to begin with, was a sign of poor judgment. Having a son-in-law who thought being 3rd generation was an excuse for such conduct might be worth passing up a high generation mate for her. It wasn't as if she really liked him that much anyway. And Kato knew his position in the Children would be able to get her 3rd generation sperm anyway. That might be a more pleasing way to see his grandchildren grow powerful. Let her marry someone she really liked, and just make sure that (if he wasn't emergent) her children were secretly from advanced sperm. Something worth thinking about.

Author's Notes:

One of the 12 Labors of Hercules was to fight the Lernaean Hydra which would grow a new head as each was cut off. The application of fire to each stump controlled that problem

Ito's Teek (telekinesis) 5 means that under normal conditions he can "grab" at least 500 lbs.

Having telepathic ability could well make illusions more potent for users than even normal minds. Those with the protection of Shell would be like a blind person navigating in the dark, they wouldn't be confused or distracted.

Sama is a Japanese honorific of High respect when appended to a name.

Miura's greeting meant (to my limited ability) "Hello Mr. Warrior Barbarian". She meant it in the most friendly way. Her gift was a coffee table format book with color plates of Remington, Mary Cassatt, Winslow Homer and Edward Hopper among others.

Emergent is a general term used by those in the know for those whose Psionic powers have become noticeable. If you can read minds, set mental fires, etc., you are emergent.


	6. Chapter 6

I do not own, or receive any benefit from the Harry Potter Series.

Out of the West

Chapter 6- Night thoughts.

Leo Green stared at the TV, ignoring the fact that at 2:30 AM the Discovery Channel sold their time on the air to a shopping network. His right hand was tossing a baseball into his gloved left one, then taking it out and repeating. His eyes were blank. If you had asked him he would have said he was training. Training his mind to his will, training so that even if his mental Shell was cracked the only thing the invader would see would be the seventh inning of the State Regional Semi-Final round, when he had made a diving catch of a hard liner and rolled up to his knees in time to throw to first base quickly enough to get a double play. The simple pleasures were best his martial arts instructor had said, and this one was pure and simple.

As he practiced this he was also training to keep a light Teek barrier to his rear, about six feet out. That was inspired by George Pollard, who hadn't done anything like this, letting Leo get close enough to ruin him and kill him. Like they said, your enemies were your best teachers. The barrier trembled as something came through it.

Knowing that someone was coming let Leo listen carefully, and when his 13 year old sister Liz quietly reached over to tap him on his shoulder he caught her arm and flipped her over the back of the coach he was sitting in, and catching her with his Teek set her gently down on the couch besides him. There was a crackling noise as she sat on the letter that had arrived for him that his parents had given him after dinner. They had brought it out for him with the cake, a celebration of the news. They'd given him a chance to read it before cutting the cake and telling the younger children what it was all about. They never did get to do that, he guessed. As soon as he had taken it in he had gone upstairs to his room, he had lost his taste for cake that night. He'd stayed there until everyone was asleep, then came down to watch TV and let it stop him thinking. When real programming had gone off the air he had started his training.

Even when she was flying through the air she hadn't let out a whelp. That would have been ratting him out to the parents, and they had an agreement they would never do that to each other. That and never lie to each other. They could make each other's life miserable, but that goes with the territory sometimes for family. Mostly they got along. She thought he acted too smug and snarky, just because he was almost three years older. He thought that she needed to be brought down a peg or two to prevent her genius IQ (you don't get special course work assigned to you by MIT professors without that kind of an intellect) from giving her a swelled head. Mostly they got along; keeping the damage the seven year old catastrophe called Aaron caused under control was a great reason for bonding. And also having someone they could tell the truth to.

"What got you into such a snit, one of the girls you got writing to you give you the brush off?" She asked. "Maybe the one you said was so cute?"

"They're both pretty cute, and you can't get brushed off if you're not… attached, connected?" Leo wasn't sure how to explain his relationships. Polite exchanges of notes with Miura, with a language barrier as large of an ocean limited one set of letters. And he was certainly more of a mentor than a boyfriend (and she was way too young for him anyway) for Rosalie Martin.

"I bet it's the exotic oriental temptress playing you. You're better off without her." Liz didn't like the girl, despite never having seen her. Leo had supposed to have been having a paid vacation in Japan, she had even been jealous of him getting to go. And then when he had come back he had been in a wheelchair for weeks, had splints and bandages and medical visits and all sorts of pills to take until he was healthy again. Somehow that girl had been the cause of that, and that meant she was an enemy. Liz looked at Leo's throat, at the silver chain around it with three big fangs that looked like nothing she could identify. Liz was good at identifying things; she had even gone on student field trips and had spotted real fossils on the ground. Those teeth on the chain were like a snake's, but much too big and thick.

"I've just been adding things up, and not coming to a good solution at the end." He said. "So I came down here to train, it's still pretty nippy out there at this time of night."

"Let your smarter little sister do it for you then, you know what I can do with mental math."

"Not really numbers kid, just… things. I add them up and I always get the same rotten answers." He looked at her and decided she should at least have a clue what was going on in his head. "Lately I've been seeing a lot of weird and bad coming at me. It's getting me down and then tonight…" His voice trailed off.

"That letter you got today, that's what set you off. What was in it?" Her eyes suddenly got large and she wiggled her butt, getting a crackling noise from the paper she had ended up sitting on. She reached under herself quickly and pulled the letter out. He lunged to get it, but she was quick enough to get off the coach and put some distance between them. He could have Teeked it out of her hands, or even just jumped her and torn it out. But it might have torn it, and it _was_ an official announcement and part of his Permanent Record. And getting into a full scale tug of war with her would certainly have woken up their parents, and that was a route to explanations and trouble.

She read it at a glance; speed reading was something she had mastered at age 6. She hopped up onto the arm of the coach and said, "Wow."

"Yeah." He replied. He continued: "So you could say as a prospective father of a fine baby boy I'm pissed that a test tube somewhere is getting so much more action than I am." At her unsatisfied look he added: "There has been a lot of things lately going on. I'm even something of a field expert on them, if knowing almost nothing makes you an expert compared to people who know absolutely nothing and don't want to think about a thing." He reached up and flipped the chain and teeth up: "Things like this, not Normal, not Psi. Other. Yeah, I know it's been driving you buggy trying to identify these things. Rest easy, little professor, you haven't been able to because they just don't belong to our world. Not ET though, or at least I hope not."

"Back in March you came back from a mission all banged up." The way she put it was more of a question than a statement.

"No, that was just handling a bad Rogue." He could see that she wasn't satisfied with that. "A real brute of a Teek, at least a seven, maybe an eight. Real truck tosser. Had some decent Hier too. Nasty bastard. He was working out of Vegas, cheating at the tables one night, hustling small time drug dealers for their junk the next. He had a body count of about eight or ten, all Normals. This is from the Mission Brief, I don't care what they say, if you go into the field always read the Brief. It may be garbage, but it might not be."

He wanted to stop there, but he could see she wouldn't let it rest at that. He would give her the whole story, even the bad part. "We had two teams going for him, he was completely out of control, would have blown the cover story for AGER completely and left us exposed to all the Normals. Anyway we caught up to him at a casino. He got a hint we were after him, probably picked it out of the mind of one of the Team Controllers who was pressing too far forward. Pollard, that was the guy's name, broke for the parking lot, Teeking things out of his way. Two of the casino's security staff tried to stop him, he crushed their chests.

"We followed him, got into three cars and we all boogied out of town at 90+. After about twenty miles, and that doesn't take long at that speed, he saw he couldn't lose us and stopped, skidded off the road completely. Wrecked his ride. He got out and started to flip our cars upside down and into the scrub. We were still inside at the time. We got out as best we could, some of the teams had pistols, but he was able to put up some sort of Teek shield up and knocked the bullets away as they came near. I got out, wiggled through the window as the door was dug into the ground, and tried to approach and get him with my nail barrage. It didn't work. He saw me and tossed me into a patch of cactus. Don't wince; he killed two of the guys with guns. I got the spines out of me without too much damage."

Liz looked skeptical at that. She remembered him coming back from that trip with lots of bandages on his face, hands and arms. She tossed her head a little, telling him to go on.

"I kept the needles with me, held them with Teek with the points toward Pollard." Leo kept on: "Kept a low profile approaching him, really sneaky in the dark stuff. The other guys were trying to either shoot him or set his pants on fire, you know the type. Repeating failures and expecting different results. I circled to his rear. When I got about thirty feet away I figured any closer might alert him, so I kept a good Teek grip on the cactus needles and advanced them until they were about two feet behind them, then I yelled to get his attention. Naturally he turned, and before he could notice them I pushed the needles into his eyes.

"He grabbed at his face of course, so while he was screaming I got up and opened my Swiss Knife and got to him at a run. The big blade. The main team Controller was still alive and he was yelling at me to subdue Pollard, saying he was valuable and stuff. When I got to him I pretended I didn't hear and slit Pollard's throat. Messy.

"The main jerk tried to get me written up, but as I was the one who actually completed the mission he would have looked like, like, a jerk. So another fine piece of work got put in the Green record. One of the cars was right side up and could run, so we got back alright to Vegas. An all night drug store supplied medical attention. While the other survivors went into a buffet, I stayed in the car. All that blood, and me with no spare shirt. I called up Fermi and told him that he'd have to hustle to get a hold of the casino security tapes. Seems the big shot forgot to do that. More brownie points for me!'

"Why did you do it? Why didn't you just knock him on the head like the Controller told you to?" Liz asked.

"First, because if I didn't do it just right he might have gotten me with a blind hit from his Teek, or something else. But mainly because I figured out what the Controller wanted. He wanted a real powerful psychotic killer under AGER control. No justice, no payment for the crimes, no… rightness. He just wanted a killer. And I took that away, and that was why he was mad at me. Except I've been thinking about it and sometimes I think that maybe AGER has it's killer. Because I still work for it, and working out what to do, and doing it didn't take me a second. It's just business; next time I'll pack a spare shirt and everything will be right, right? I think I'm a monster." Leo stopped talking and just looked at his sister, waiting for her to back away from him.

Elizabeth Green just shook her head, and slid down onto the couch, reached over to her brother and hugged him saying "No, no, no."


	7. Chapter 7

I do or own or receive any benefits from the Harry Potter series.

Out of the West

Chapter 7-Journeyman's Journey

Leo undid his seatbelt as the Aer Lingus 747 settled into its flight path to JFK airport. He wasn't sure if he had to get off and reboard there, but with over three hours to go he felt that either he'd get a needed chance to stretch his legs, or he'd be ready for a nap. Win-win. He decided to spend the time until then writing to Rosalie Martin. He'd somehow ended up as her Guide to the World of Mutant Marvels after the recruiting team had blown her initial pick-up.

He had been coming back from another reconnaissance in Massachusetts when he met her. A team of two 2nd generation field men had been recalled before they did anything even more stupid. They had been supposed to bring in one of the increasingly rare young 1st generation emergents. Strong Hiers and Spieks they had gone after an 11 year old girl in East St. Louis, and had managed to spook her badly enough to have her run home and have her mother pick up the family shotgun and threaten to blow away anyone who broke through the door. They had called for Teek backup, and to make sure the local police were neutralized before they broke in and showed her who was boss. Cooler heads prevailed and they were recalled. Leo had been hanging out at the HQ between planes and looked through the mission statement lying on the desk. Listening to the garbled excuse for a debriefing He just began to shake his head in bewilderment. Were these supposed to be the older and wiser heads he was going to be learning from?

His movements had caught the attention of the disgruntled recruiters, who started to come down on him. As Hiers they were more than a little uneasy with him anyway, anyone that they couldn't mind-read put them past on-edge. And he had just found out that he was officially the new record holder in Shell. So it quickly became: "If you're so damn smart why don't you do it?" Which he agreed to do, if they extended his official mission time, and made his lodging and travel arrangement modifications.

The next day he slowly approached Rosalie as she solitarily swung back and forth at her local playground. He was probably the only Caucasian within a half-mile, except for recruiters back in the limo watching him with binoculars and wishing him the worst of luck. He was also being observed by all the rest of the kids around, but none of them moved to cut him off as he approached the girl. She had been acting odd lately, and was building up a reputation for being "touched".

Leo stopped about ten feet away from her, just outside her personal space. She had stopped swinging and had her feet firmly on the ground, ready to dash off if he looked threatening. He reached in his pocket and took out a quarter, and asked, "Heads or tails?" She made no sound.

He flipped it up into the air and asked again, "Heads or tails?" He kept the coin up in the air and flipping around for several seconds, then continued: "If you want I can do edge too." Her eyes looked from him, to the coin, then around the playground, where everyone was carefully not looking at what might be happening to The Odd Girl.

She looked at him, her eyes squinted a little as she tried to hear or feel the odd, hungry thoughts those other strangers had been sending her the other day. There was only quiet. Just an older boy with a little smile standing nearby and keeping a coin tumbling in the air and never falling. She said, "Heads." The coin flew the ten feet forward into her hand, landing heads side up in her palm.

"Mind if I sit and talk a while?" Leo asked, gesturing to the next empty seat on the swing set. She gave a little nod. He went over and sat, turned his head a little toward her and introduced himself: name, and age and what he did and what he was. She took it in silently. He liked that, he couldn't read a single thought in her head, of course, but she listened… smart, the way Liz would have. She was neat and clean, in a cheap but freshly ironed dress, her family were upward strivers.

He pulled out a small notebook and looked at her, asking without words if he could use it. She gave a little nod yes. He started asking the basic questions; what could she do, when did these things start, how was her family taking it, did it affect her at school. Things like that. Her answers were short, and given in a soft voice. Leo got a picture of how things were very quickly. Within the last three months she had started to feel odd around certain people, then she had started to hear fragments of their thoughts. When she played board games with her younger sisters she had started to get the dice rolls to land her playing pieces where she wanted, every time. Her parents were getting scared, but trying not to reject her. School had become harder. It was like being in a tunnel with a thousand little echoes in her head to confuse her. She wasn't sure if she had begun avoiding her friends, or they had been avoiding her.

Then those men had come looking for her. She had learned at school what to do if strangers in cars started to follow you. Catching their feelings, she had felt like a rabbit being stalked by a pair of foxes. And like a smart little rabbit had run for her safe place.

Last night she had heard her folks talking, after she was supposed to be asleep. Was she crazy? What she said sounded like she was. But there _had _been men trying to follow her into their home. It had gone around and around, without any solutions to what was happening to their little girl coming up. So today she had gone out to the playground, in open sight to accept whatever hazards there were, rather than risk her parents and little sisters. Because she had heard, somehow, through the closed door that those men had been trying to break in and take her away, no matter what her parents said.

Leo had at least a rough idea of her abilities. Sensitive Hier (with very sensitive emotion sensing) with at least a passable Teek. If she joined AGER there would be a real evaluation, and training to deal with at least some of the problems of stray thought reading. Now he had to close the deal, and as far as he was concerned that meant it was Time to Meet the Parents.

A polite request got him invited to her home. Her mother was back from her job, the younger children were at the kitchen table doing homework. The father would be home soon from his second job; providing for a family and paying a mortgage demand three salaries from the two parents. Mrs. Nancy Martin was trying desperately to be polite, while looking at him like he was a two headed freak. Leo took it calmly (sometimes, when he thought about things, he had almost the same questions about himself, and all the other AGER people), and talked about school back home, and how he had been forced off the baseball team. Too much sick and away time, too many missed practices and games. He held off of the heart of Rosalie's situation until the father would be home. Meanwhile Mrs. Martin made good lemonade, and slowly calmed down. At six the children got their dinner, and the small ones, yawning, stayed up till Daddy got home.

When Allard Martin did get home he was surprised at his guest, but Leo just stayed friendly and said that he should have dinner before anything was discussed. Leo tried to beg off being fed, and said that he was didn't want to impose, but the iron laws of hospitality meant that he ended up enjoying meatloaf , potatoes and string beans with them. The small ones were put to bed, and then they got down to business: Mr. and Mrs. Martin, Rosalie and Leo.

First he showed them reliable Teek (all of Rosalie's abilities where still erratic) and Pyro. Showing his credentials so to speak. Then the whole story: the Project, the Bombs, the first few children with their strange powers, their decisions on how to handle things and not become the tool of self-interested governments or the victims of witch hunts. How Rosalie was unusual being a 1st generation born so long after the original events that had started things off. How if she signed on with AGER she would be given training, scholarships for education and the like. And also he told them of the restrictions, the duties and obligations. And how going to the general public and media would mean the destruction of their credibility and pretty much the ruining of their lives. He hadn't really meant to go there, but they were nice people and his honesty carried him away. It was a good thing they were smart enough to realize the reasons behind things, and not panic before there was any need to.

In the end the three had agreed that Rosalie needed the training and protection AGER could give her. Her parents were just glad that their girl wasn't going insane, was special (in a good sense) and would, if she played her cards right, have a better shot at living up to her potential than they would have been able to give her before.

Leo had sorta/kinda mentioned that he would do what he could for her. No real promises, just a suggestion, a hint maybe. So after he got the local recruiting supervisor in to talk with them Leo started to get pushy about having certain expenses Rosalie would be having covered by the organization. Then he started suggesting scholarships for enhanced regular education. At which point the supervisor called up the office and got Leo on the next plane out. Leo didn't mind, he had much better contacts and knew far more people to annoy back at Los Alamos.

For the next two weeks, every moment he wasn't at school, asleep or training he was at AGER headquarters being the most polite pain in the ass he knew how to be and cornering people in Field Operations and Recruitment talking about the many advantages of setting up Rosalie Martin with a scholarship and living expenses . After all she was living in a place with substandard schools; a poor education could only harm her career in AGER. And since she had two younger sisters, and abilities ran in families getting on the good side of her parents couldn't hurt. And on and on until there was some anonymous decision that the best way to shut Leo up and stop his memos and proposals was just to give in. It wasn't much money in the overall scheme of things, and an annoyingly polite pain in the ass is the worst type, especially a kid. You want to, but can't, justify screaming at him to just let it go, he's being so _nice._

Aside from allowing Mr. Martin to drop his part-time job (and "provide needed positive parental role modeling for the children") the scholarship and allowances had made Leo, in Rosalie's opinion, a cross between the Lone Ranger, Santa Claus and Albert Einstein. So she wrote to him at least weekly about her new school, making new friends (knowing that she wasn't going insane or being possessed by spirits had made a very definite improvement in her social life), and with questions about life, some of which he actually knew the answers to.

As he finished his reply to his last letter he made sure to put in that he would be out of the country for a while, and that she shouldn't expect any communications from him till he contacted her. He knew that she was smart enough to get an idea of what that meant. He didn't want to get her nervous or anything, but that way she wouldn't think a lack of replies meant the Lone Ranger, Santa Claus and Albert E. had all dropped her as a friend.

At JFK there was an hour layover before the flight continued on to Shannon. Leo got off, posted his letter, and hunted up a cup of coffee and Danish pastry at the lone coffee stall open at that hour. Both were stale. He walked quickly up and down the concourse until the boarding notice was given. Back aboard the plane he checked his papers: He was Leo Gold again, as he had been back at Salem. This time he was 19 years old (that erased a lot of potential legal problems, good thing the papers included a faked International driver's license), had a British Rail Pass, credit card and travelers checks for 1,000 pounds. He was carrying nothing a young American wouldn't ordinarily bring on his vacation, including a short list of names and telephone numbers to look up as family friends while he was over there. There were no secret weapons, hidden spy cameras or false bottoms to be discovered in his luggage or toilet accessories. He was officially young, innocent and clueless. He wondered if he really was.

At Shannon International there was an air of shabby over-expansion. The terminal was new and big, but there was a few too many overfilled trashcans, a few too many cracked windows at the duty-free shops. There wasn't much of a crowd at the baggage carrousel when he picked up his overstuffed duffle bag.

A short bus trip took him into the heart of Limerick City, and then a short walk took him to the small hotel he had a reservation at. Checking in was both quick and a lot more personal than he was used to back in the States. After dropping off his bag and camera in his room he wandered out into the town to the pre-arranged meeting in the restaurant. He identified the man he was to meet, gave a slight nod, and got a table. He ordered the Sheppard's Pie. There were no coded meanings, he just had always wanted to try the Sheppard's Pie at some restaurant. He drank tea with it. The boozers at the bar gave no outright laughter, just a few smirks at his lack of "manliness". When he was done he exchanged one of the Travelers checks for cash to pay for the meal and left a generous tip. It was early afternoon and slightly overcast. He followed his instructions and went to a small park and sat down on an isolated and empty bench. The man from the restaurant sat down beside him.

"Mr. Gold, I presume?"

"Call me Leo."

"Could we work in a bit more super-secret spy talk?"

"Funny hats, brooms?"

"We'll be seeing enough Funny hats, soon enough. To be candid, you're a bit younger than I had been expecting."

"Let's not say young, let's just say expendable."

"Not the best news entirely, but all of piece with recent events."

Leo looked around, and then asked: "Perhaps less witty dialog and more… precise briefing, Mr.  
Quiller?"

Quiller became serious, "Things have gone quite pear shaped in the last week. We've held off sending anything until you arrived as we have been re-establishing lines of communication. Everything should be in place within the week, but until then I'd be cautious about attempting any secure communications."

"Whoa!" Leo said, while doing a mental evaluation of his prepared secondary series of dead drops and blind contacts. They should still all be all right, but he would leave indicators that the next higher level of tracing decontamination should be applied. "Funny hats?"

"We think Funny hats have an in, a big one somewhere. Last week a memo came down from high up in MI5, endorsed by the PM, to turn over all our files on Operation Ambrosia to a special unit. Bunch of odd ducks came in within an hour and picked them up, purged the files completely. Then a memo came down for a debriefing that afternoon. Twenty three operatives went in and two hours later twenty three came out. Luckily half of the AGER workers, myself included, had been only unofficially keeping up with things. Everyone, AGER or not, who went to the debriefing came out sure that the whole business had been something to do with wrapping up the Cold War in some way. The Bolshies are now officially gone, and we can all go back to dealing with industrial espionage and other nefarious French affairs.

"Most contagious case of epidemic amnesia and shared hallucination I can remember in twenty years in the Trade. Men, emergent and prole, that had minds and wills hard as rocks remember working for six months on something no one was doing at all. If my Field Team hadn't been keeping duplicates of the most essential things we'd be back where we were when Al came over to give me the head's up last year. Only good part is nobody seems to have been properly interrogated, Funny hats seem to have talent up the arse, and thoroughness nowhere. Anyway, it's been a week now, no call ins for a special "meeting", and no one within 50 meters has been trailing any of us that still have our memories right side up."

"Unless the tail was a Shell." Leo commented.

A little awkwardly Quiller agreed: "Yes, yes, that _is_ where you come in after all, isn't it? There _is_ a bit of touchiness with so much of the organization and support based over your side of the water, you know, I'm not sure if a wet behind the ears child is exactly going to make it look like we are being taken seriously. I _do_ hope that you manage to make us confident with having the central office over there."

"But the advantage of my incompetence is that when things go belly up you'll be able to say it was all the Yank's fault, if only you had been in charge everything would have run sweet. Oops, I've been assigned to you, you are in charge! Better not let anything happen to the _enfant terrible_ or my little sister will get after you."

"Merciless, is she?"

"Totally."

"Forewarned is fore-terrified." Quiller replied. He hadn't seen any confusion or tension on Gold's face. He was relaxed and cool; he might do. Quiller himself had been doing unpleasant things in a very successful manner when only a year or so older than this one. The only thing to do was to soldier on. AGER was too new, the number of those it could put into the field too few for anything but actual competence to matter. "Get a stateroom on the ferry over tomorrow. You'll get further instructions then. There's a place in London we think may be a good starter location to examine. Actually got it out of a dead file that was supposed to have been purged over ten years ago, events looking quite like our latest fiasco. Anyway we'll see if your closed mindedness will be able to handle 12 Grimmauld Place. So far none of ours has been able to."

Author's Note:

There are few new 1st generations coming to AGERs attention as the original programs with their sloppy safety protocols have long since been terminated. The first string of nuclear explosives, using the original adulterated bomb components (the exact nature of the adulterations being lost to time and inaccurate measurements) is also long in the past. The true trigger for the 1st generation is now lost. Each new one expands the genetic base, providing guarantees against inbreeding.

Rosalie Martin's paternal grandfather had worked on a construction job at the Chicago University Metallurgical Laboratory during the period when the first atomic reactor was being set up and test runs were being done. Her maternal grandfather had done maintenance at Oak Ridge during the period when separation of radioactive isotopes for the Manhattan Project was being done. Her maternal grandmother had been in domestic service at Hanford, Washington with an engineer working at the plutonium enrichment facility there. Some of these ancestors must have been exposed to the needed radioactivity, when these family lines came together a new emergent was born.


	8. Chapter 8

I do not own or receive any benefit from the Harry Potter series.

Out of the West

Chapter 8-Pattern Recognition

Like a gunfighter preparing to swagger down Main Street, or at least like a burglar preparing to do some B&E Leo checked his working kit. Clipboard and pens (you can go almost anywhere as long as you have an official looking clipboard in your hand), non-electronic cameras (tried and tested in high "X field" areas. Well you had to call the weirdness he was dealing with _something_), flashlight (called a torch here), very fake identification (made out to a Mr. Otto Hahn, an employee of Rutherford Estate Agents), a shoulder bag with what had become his standard going on a mission pack (something inflammable, rope, a measuring tape, a bottle _labeled _as hot sauce, an entrenching tool with folding handle, and a small sewing kit), and what was for him the normal miscellany of pocket stuff (cash, keys, twelve 10penny nails wrapped for silence, his Swiss Army Knife, a clean handkerchief [because you never know when you'll have to offer it to a Lady], and his wallet with suitable fake business cards). The only really dangerous items he carried (except for the knife, and he always considered that mostly a tool) were the nails camouflaged as a type of candy and the _hot sauce_. It actually was hot sauce of a sort, but it was the purified fluid from Scotch Bonnet Chilies and was officially banned as too dangerous to be used in defensive cans of Pepper Spray.

In his tweed suit, with his fake eyeglasses, tinted hair and pathetic (on purpose) little fake mustache he looked just like the pictures on his far more impressive fake driving license, his Estate Agent identification ID, and his membership card in the North Surrey Athletic Association. He was officially a Canadian ex-pat who had gone very native, but hadn't yet got the local accent right.

After having made sure the mirror in his hotel showed the person he wanted to see Leo left his room. Walking down to the Tube station he took a combination of three different trains, more to get a feel for the system than to actually shake a tail, then took a taxi to the start of Grimmauld Place.

As he walked down the sidewalks he gave what he hoped was a suitably professional appraising glance at the homes he was passing. They looked to have been built in the late 19th century, with a definitely prosperous clientele as the target purchasers. Each butted up against its neighbor, with only a small fenced off back garden to finish off the lot. A flight of steps up to the front door past a short fenced stairwell going down to the cellars and kitchens. One largish window on the same level as the door indicated a fair sized room facing the street. Leo had studied the plans for numbers 11 and 13, as might be expected number 12 was always missing. Since the houses had been built in one spurt he expected there would be a great resemblance in number 12 to all the others. The big difference between the houses was that the others were all clean, painted and polished, while 12 Grimmauld Place looked like it had been abandoned and left to the squatter's years ago. Since as far as Leo could figure he was one of only three people in the Greater London area that could see the place he could understand how the owners might let it run down a bit, no need to impress the neighbors when they thought that the house numbers were the result of a typographical error before the 20th century had started, and the mistake of having number 11 next to number 13 was too mired in tradition and paperwork to bother trying to clear up. The postman and the various repairmen knew how to get things done right and that was all that mattered.

The other two people that Leo knew could see number twelve were two British AGER members, one a Shell 1, the other a Shell 2. The Shell 1 could see a blur, the Shell 2 could see the place clearly enough. It was just that when he tried to walk up to the front door and try to sell a (bogus) magazine subscription he found that he always remembered an important reason to be somewhere else, at least until he was back down at the bottom of the steps. There was a cul-de-sac of an alley (Brighter Lane) between the backs of Grimmauld Place residences and the backs of the other homes of the late Victorian development. Gates leading into small gardens, and the servant and delivery quarters of the houses were accessible that way. The tall brick wall, pierced with a single solid door, was just as confounding when they attempted to go in that way.

So for this, among other things, they had imported some specialized talent. It had just so happened that while the travel arrangements had been being made the Funny hats struck back and took out (mentally at least) half the AGER staff that had been involved. Those who still remembered had decided to keep the ongoing (and now more obviously essential) investigation out of the hands (and minds) of those who has been called in and mind-wiped. What else could you really call it? AGER had some techniques using teams of Hier and Spiek personnel, with an array of chemicals to help induce limited memory loss and an occasional bit of outright false memory. But what had happened to the MI5 unit had been on a whole other level, and was down-right scary.

The assumption was that they would now be under at least occasional observation, and just because it seemed the AGER secret hadn't been spilled yet was no reason to assume it was too unbelievable to be credited, especially by people who seemed to do the most odd and strange things.

As Leo walked up the street, making notes and sketches on his clipboard, he was also thinking certain dark thoughts. Quiller, and the partner Leo had met yesterday, had called the non-emergents they worked with "proles". Not exactly a statement of the universal brotherhood of man. In Japan Ito had called such people peasants. At one time anyone of the samurai or noble class could legally kill a peasant on a whim, they had no legal standing. At home the term used was "Normal", but the tone used was usually just a bit off, enough to let you know that Normal really meant inferior. Leo didn't want to think about Jimmy Devries or Agnes Willard as slightly sub-human. He also didn't want to have to start considering Mozart or Aristotle as merely bright animals. He'd have to talk to Liz about this sometime.

He came up to the gate in the wall that would have been numbered 12, except if you needed to see a number to identify it you probably weren't one of those trusted enough to go in anyway. Leo just saw it as the only un-numbered back gate door on either side of the alley, and number 12 because he had been keeping count. It was a solid wood door, set in a brick wall that rose above eye level. There was, it looked like, the traditional broken glass embedded along the top. The wall was the same width as the front of the house, and both it and the door could have used a bit of maintenance and paint.

Checking that he was unobserved Leo carefully measured the length and height of the wall, the size of door and drew a little sketch map of their relationship to the doors and garden gates (none in such a forbidding fence or wall) on either side and across the way. Then he took a photo of the door.

Checking again that there was no one looking Leo commenced to get to the interesting part. He used his Sie to get a grip on the internal workings of the door's lock, started to use Teek to move it to an unlocked condition. As he had expected he felt the sticky feel of the X field, as well as a goodly amount of rust, stopping the opening. He put some more force into it, and slowly felt things moving. He stopped, looked at the heavy deadbolt mechanism bolted into the door, and instead started to use his Teek to unscrew the entire mechanism from its place. Things went a lot quicker that way, and the force required didn't threaten to give him a blinding headache. Within two minutes the lock was only loosely held to the door, and he pried it off. With a load and rusty creak he opened the door and stepped in to the garden at the back of 12 Grimmauld Place.

The first thing he noticed was that the garden was at least three times as wide on the inside as it was on the outside, and at least twice as deep as it should be from the surveys of the other houses on the street. The next thing was that the rear of the house itself was showing a façade of considerable decrepitude. No paint had been applied for decades and several windows on the upper level were broken. A few medium sized trees were growing in it, including one that was shooting up through what was once the surface of a tile floored patio. The grass grew long and unkempt. There were no lights on in the house, or smoke coming out of any of the chimneys thrusting up through the roof. Leo swung the door shut behind him and began his routine of picture taking and measuring. He made a mental note that if he were to come back he would get something to lubricate the hinges of the garden gate. It would probably be a good idea for the doors of the house, come to think of it.

He looked up from his measuring when he felt himself picked up and thrown against the brick wall. He managed to Teek himself into a soft landing, bounced off and rolled himself to his feet. About twenty feet away there was some waist high, half clothed person screaming out a string of curses with the words: "Muggle" and "Thief" figuring prominently. The ragged house defender stuck his hand out and Leo felt himself starting to be pushed back toward the wall again. He ducked low and to the right, getting a mental picture of his attacker's position and reached out and Teek slammed him into the ground. Leo came to his feet again and psionically grabbed the other and pinned his arms to his sides.

A note of fear entered the unbroken string of cursing as the small person tried to wriggle his way out of the invisible grip holding him in place. Leo suddenly felt a strain on his Teek, as if someone out of sight was pulling on his captive with a rope from the direction of the house. Leo concentrated all his force on holding on, and took three or four steps closer to gain a shorter (and so stronger) grip. Suddenly the captive went limp, the feeling of the rope's pull disappeared and Leo walked forward to tower over the creature. It was disturbing to see tears flowing down its' cheeks.

"Kreacher has failed the Lady", it said. "Kreacher couldn't protect the Noble House of Black. Kreacher was too weak to stop the Muggles. Kreacher should lose his head!"

Leo Teeked this Kreacher fellow up off the ground to get a better look. He had insanely thin arms and legs, an oversized head and long pointed ears. What Leo liked most about him was that he wasn't over six feet tall with long sharp claws. That encounter in Salem last year, and his little visit to Japan had put Leo totally off of anything big and equipped with long fangs and claws. Kreacher gave a startled gasp as he left the ground without being touched, and was rotated, first upside down and then back to normal. Leo decided to go for broke.

"How do you do, Kreacher? I'm from the Rutherford Agency here to inspect number… " Here Leo reached out to where his clipboard and been knocked out of his hands when he hit the wall, and brought it to him. Consulting it he said: "Number 12 Grimmauld Place, to assess it and decide on evaluation and potential points of value. My card." At this Leo pulled out phony business card and tucked it in Kreacher's hand, flashed his false identification, put the half-pint back down (keeping just enough of a Teek grip to tighten up quickly if it made any hostile moves), and proceeded take another picture of the house. Then he said, "Now let's see the inside, shall we?" And stepped off briskly toward the door he could see leading onto the decayed patio. There was, off to the side, a set of steps leading down to what must have been some sort of basement.

Kreacher stumbled into action and trotted alongside the man from the Rutherford Agency rattling off his apologies for calling the noble wizard a Muggle, and begging him to please wait, just for a moment, while he informed the Lady of the House that she had a visitor. Leo decided that the only way to stay in character was to play along with the little guy; it was already giving him a ton of information. He was, evidently, a wizard and not a Muggle. There was a Lady inside (Leo, glancing at the state of the place was getting flashes of that old woman from _Great Expectations_) who had to be informed, and Kreacher was referring to himself as the most worthless and unworthy House Elf ever to serve the Noble House of Black. Leo gave his agreement that he would, of course, wait for the Lady's permission to enter. Kreacher suddenly disappeared with a slight _pop_, and Leo barely kept himself from jumping a half foot into the air. He went over to the door, and reached into his pocket and grabbed some of the nails he had stashed there, then let go of them. If this thing was going to work he couldn't come in doing something odd (like holding strange objects in his hand) or looking dangerous.

After two minutes or so at the back door Leo saw it swung open (with enough of a rusty screech that he made another mental note to get some lube for various hinges when he came next time) by a much more composed Kreacher (he even had his towel thingy loin cloth on better) doing his best imitation of a butler inviting Mr. Hahn in to see the Lady. Reminding himself that he was currently Otto Hahn Leo followed the mini-butler into an incredibly dingy, down to the peeling wallpaper, wide hallway lit by a few guttering candles. Except at the wick location there wasn't a flame, but a flickering ball of light.

Twenty paces in or so Kreacher stopped in front of a painting on the wall. Its' frame was the first clean and polished thing Leo had seen in the house. In the frame was an oil of a severe looking middle aged woman with iron grey hair. The lips of the painting quivered a trifle. Leo's eyes slid down to Kreacher, who looked back with an expectant look on his face. Leo gave a short but definite bow and introduced himself to the picture: "It is so kind of you to receive me Madam. I am Otto Hahn, of Rutherford's, here to examine your magnificent estate and do an evaluation of it. Our information, unfortunately, did not include your presence here or I would have sent a proper request to visit by post." Once again he flipped out his identification, making sure it's' exposure was just too short a period to be properly read. He was only half surprised when, sure enough, the portrait spoke back to him in a very Great Lady tone: "Think nothing of it, dear boy. How could you have known? After all when one is in my current condition one certainly does not get out and about to let others know of one's location. And, after all, I am now but a painted shadow, existing in the greater shadows of this fallen House of Black."

That set the tone of their conversation, she being the gracious Lady of the Manor (now tragically reduced), and he being the polite and attentive courtier who had an unavoidable but unpleasant need to intrude on her. He piled it on a good bit higher than he would have at actually meeting the Queen. Elizabeth Windsor would have been a real person in his world, and that would have made him a lot stiffer and less fluid. While Madam Black ("Walburga", according to the little brass name plate at the bottom of the frame) was so far out of his experience that dealing with her was dreamlike and more in the nature of doing an improvised playlet than real life. Improvisation was really his strong point, after all.

With very little prodding Leo received a thorough exposition of the House of Black. Of course he had been trying to find out facts about the building he was in, and particularly why Normals (Muggles?) couldn't see it, and why it was bigger inside than out. While Madam Black was very eager to expound on genealogy and selected biographies of noted Blacks through history. As it was of a history he had never heard of this left him a little confused, but he gamely made notes. Kreacher had brought him a chair (almost clean) to sit on while he conversed with the painting. The lady therein was very good about keeping things down to his speed of note taking, and spelling out names where needed. Leo expected she was trying to get a family history written. In any case things became quite cordial, and he had received an open invitation to return and examine the place, and talk and relieve an old lady's boredom (even if she was only a picture) at staring day after day at the wall opposite. It seemed the painting couldn't even be moved, so she was condemned to view forever an unfortunate choice in wallpaper made in 1897.

Finally Leo had to take his leave for the day, but promised to return soon with a treat. She seemed almost tearfully grateful for some company besides Kreacher. She had thought his accent cute and seemed think it was some obscure European one. He hadn't disillusioned her, and only honestly admitted he was, originally, from over the water. That he meant the Atlantic and she thought the Channel was merely a bit of amusing confusion.

As he left, escorted by the now polite, almost groveling, Kreacher he noticed a long plank over a doorway in the hall, with a row of House Elf (?) heads mounted on it. He took out his flashlight and forced it to work; yes those were really heads up there. Kreacher smiled and answered the implied question: "When House Elfs get too old to work the Noble Blacks do not cast them out, but keep them in the family, forever!"

As Leo walked through late afternoon sun he had his plans forming up. Among the things Walburga had mentioned was that the house had a family library, which he would, of course, be allowed to evaluate. And also that she had a wizard son, disgraceful and disgraced and no doubt desperate, currently in prison.


	9. Chapter 9

I do not own or receive any benefits from the Harry Potter series

Out of the West

Chapter 9-Ties that Bind

As Leo opened the well oiled door into the garden of 12 Grimmauld Place, and entered the back garden the only things else in the service alley for the Grimmauld Place terrace development was a scrawny dog and two cats it had driven up a wooden fence (at No. 16, Mr. & Mrs. Gordon Rectin, two children and, currently, two very frightened cats). His hands were filled with several packages. There was some more propane for the camping lanterns, a music box with a wide selection of tunes, more scented candles (Walburga couldn't smell them, of course, but Kreacher's comments about how the mustiness had cleared up when they were lit had really delighted her), and a floral arrangement in a wicker basket for the small table Kreacher had managed to find and place in the main hallway across from the painting. He also had a shopping bag with his lunch, and his usual shoulder bag with needed sundries. Leo was feeling quite relaxed and domestic. His two previous visits had gone well; he had been supplying Kreacher with home repair supplies and advice (using Teek to impress the elf and confirm his Wizard status), had the plumbing working a bit, and had established a sort of long lost nephew relationship with the lonely and isolated Walburga. All was very much right in the world of Leo Green, Secret Agent!

So he was very much surprised that as he stepped into the garden something hit him in the back and sent him arse over teakettle into the long grass (he hadn't yet gotten Kreacher to mow it).

He kept on rolling until he was right side up (even a beginning student of martial arts knew how to take a sudden knockdown and turn it into a non-injuring roll) and on his feet. Facing him was the dog he had seen outside, looking a lot bigger and more menacing than before. He made a quick feint to the left, not at all fooling the dog. It was growling and started to advance slowly. It looked unhealthily thin, time for Plan B. Leo reached into the shopping bag, pulled out his ham and cheese on whole wheat (mustard, no pickles) and tossed it to the right. The dog's head turned to track it like a Skeet champion tracking a clay pigeon. By the time its' head had snapped back to the business at hand Leo was at full speed heading to the nearest tree to the left, a good shortstop had to have good lateral acceleration. The dog followed him, limping a little but putting on a good turn of speed. Just not good enough. Leo leaped when he was eight feet from the trunk, pushing off with his Teek to get some altitude, and grabbed a thick branch ten or so feet off the ground, pulling himself up in jerky hurry. Once up he sat on it, and considered the situation.

The dog sat down below him, looking up. It didn't try to do a jump and snap, it didn't just turn around and go after the sandwich. It was certainly giving him a very _purposeful_ look. Very focused, like a good sheep dog figuring things out and waiting for its' chance. It turned its' head once toward the lost lunch (Leo hoped it hadn't come out of its' wrappings, he had serious plans for that sandwich) but then gave an unhappy yap and lay down, looking up at the stranded man.

All right, the options: one through five were the best way to kill the thing, all very workable. Though he did like dogs and would regret doing things that way. Six was to set its' tail on fire, it was just about in range. Fire, fire… now he remembered, he had something better, and a whole lot less likely to be lethal than three nails through the skull, and more sure to work than giving it a hot foot, or tail as the case might be.

He pulled the shoulder bag around to his front; it had been tucked under his left arm when he'd made his break for the tree. There inside, unbroken, was the little bottle labeled clearly (and falsely) Tabasco Sauce. The dog had settled in for the long haul, its' head was down on its' paws as Leo opened the bottle, shook out two little drops and kept them suspended in mid –air as he sealed and returned the bottle to the bag. Then the drops were slowly lowered down, at this distance, with no distractions, Leo's control was rock steady. As they came close to its' face the dog gave a suspicious sniff, but before it could do anything one of the drops was pushed into each nostril. For one second nothing happened: then a whine, rising in volume came from the beast, suddenly changing into a scream of "My nose! My nose!" as the thin large black dog changed into a thin ragged man in a tattered black robe holding onto his offended organ as tears poured down his face as he rolled around on the ground.

Leo sighed, and turned his eyes up to the sky while muttering: "Why me, Lord? Why me?" Then he let himself down from the branch and walked, did not run to the side of the house where Kreacher had turned on an outside faucet and left a watering can. As Leo filled up the can he saw Kreacher looking out from a window so he waved and set off to bring some (slight) degree of relief to the unworthy. As he passed it Leo Teeked up the sandwich (still completely wrapped!) to his other hand, and looked over to see that the floral arrangement he had brought that day wasn't a complete disaster. When he had got within ten feet of the man, still in agony, Leo set down the can and Teeked up about a pint of water from it into a globe floating in mid air. With a flip of his wrist (not needed, of course, except for showmanship), he moved it across the space between them and shot it up the nose currently burning from the effect of being bathed in 300,000 Scoville units of peppery hotness. The watery flush didn't really eliminate the pain and damage, you'd need milk for that, and none was on hand. But it did prevent further spreading of the oils, and washed away a _little_ of the pain from abused nerve endings.

Leo squatted down next to the man, still whimpering and with flowing eyes. He repeated the flush, and kept the next dose of water up the sufferer's nose, the pressure seemed to stop some of the pain. "Hello Fido, I'm Otto. And what exactly where you trying to do, breaking into the Black residence?"

"Why shouldn't I be here? This is my home, I am Sirius Black! And depressing as it is, this is my house."

"I see, didn't know they let you out. I thought you were doing hard time in Abaddon."

"Azkaban, and they didn't…" At that Black realized his position had just gotten considerably worse and tried to get to his feet and leave before the authorities were called. Leo just pushed the water further up Black's nose and made him fall, choking, back to his knees.

"Really, after all this time you shouldn't leave without having at least having a bite!" Leo looked regretfully at the sandwich, and then handed it to the fugitive. He realized that today he would have to suffer for his Craft. "Really, I don't think anyone is in any great hurry to summon the constables, rouse the fuzz or call the cops. Why don't we sit and chat a while?"

Black looked at the meal (the first in three days that wasn't scavenged from trash bins) in his hand, and tore off the wrapping paper and started taking huge bites, swallowing with hardly any chewing at all. Leo looked regretfully at his lost lunch, then went back to bag he had gotten it from. Inside was a plastic tub of potato salad (with plastic fork), a bottle of iced tea and a somewhat smashed up hand sized individual custom bakery baked cherry tart. He realized that now was not the time to count the cost, at least it was all on the job, and he had the receipts for repayment. He brought the rest of the food back to Black, who was practically licking the wrapping paper for crumbs. As the rest of food disappeared, only slightly less quickly, Leo put things in order mentally. Then remembering not to smile too widely (some people recently had commented that it reminded them too much of a shark about to take a leg to dinner) he sat down on the grass and said: "I've been hearing so much about you, and little was to your credit. Why don't you tell me _your_ side of the story."

For the next hour and a half Black filled Leo's (or Otto as he knew him) ear, getting more relaxed as he went. He didn't mind when Leo's inevitable notebook came out, and only tensed up when Kreacher appeared nearby. They did a good imitation of two hostile cats doing a hiss before combat. Leo broke that up before if went critical, and asked Kreacher to rescue the flowers and put them on the little table that was now across the hall from the portrait, and not to tell his mistress until things were better sorted out. Kreacher reluctantly agreed. The nice young wizard who made the Mistress happy had asked, and after all, however regrettably, the Blood-Traitor was his rightful Master.

Black poured it out, vented it out. The family fights, the complete separation (though not quite disownment), the War, the Fidelius, the switched Keepers, the betrayal and murder, the arrest and travesty of imprisonment without trial or hearing. And Azkaban, Azkaban, _Azkaban_, rotting the soul and battering the mind until being a beast was better than being a man. Finally he spoke of a newspaper left to tease and torture, and how while going through it for the fourth time, trying to distract himself from being in Hell, he noticed a very, very, special rat perched on the shoulder of a boy vacationing with his family in Egypt after they had won a lottery. So then he talked of Peter, and how long he would live, and how painful every second of that would be until that life ended. While behind a concerned and sympathetic face Leo Green was thinking and trying not to reveal on his face what no one could steal from his brain.

When Black finally ran down, taking a drink from the watering can to ease his parched throat, Leo laid it out. Not the only way to do things, but pretty logically the best way. Still, in the end only a direct challenge to Black's dedication for revenge got him to agree to hold his tongue and temper and follow Leo's lead in acting both proud and humble (in the right ways and proportions) for next few hours. Black had been surprised that this was all going to be done to impress a portrait, that his mother had actually died (no one had told him of course) while he was locked up. But he admitted that the resources that could be accessed would multiply his chances of success.

Leo led the way into the house, nodding pleasantly to Kreacher when he passed him in the hallway, smiling when he saw how well Kreacher had repaired the arrangement, and set up the scented candles to illuminate the flowers. When he was in front of Madam Black he gave his normal bow, then ushered Sirius Black forward to face his mother's image. With a little comment on how they had so much to catch up on Leo stepped back as Walburga (or at least her image) explode for the next ten minutes on Sirius's moral, intellectual, social, educational, hygienic and other shortcomings. Finally she stopped, or at least paused to catch a magical portrait's equivalent of a breath. Leo was surprised that blood didn't pour out of his mouth from biting his tongue so hard, when Black let loose with the only possible argument that would make all the bitterness a thing of the past, at least for a while.

"Mother, all other things aside, I have come to ask you to join me in revenge against one who has abused and betrayed the House of Black. From the cells of Azkaban I have escaped to ask you to join me in punishing the wizard who had offended the House of Black too much to be allowed to live. He is unworthy of a duel, he must be brought to justice, our justice! Then made to suffer until death is what he begs for, and then we might give him the mercy of fire and death. Then our honor will be cleansed, then once again no one will ever dare mock us!"

As Leo had figured, appeals to anger and pride were more likely to get the Black family back together than one to a happy past they had never had. As the painted face became thoughtful Leo stepped forward and gave a brief outline of the first part of the plan, promising to commit himself to the cause due to his admiration and respect both to the Noble and Ancient House, and her own person. As the saying goes, if you think blatant flattery won't get you everything you want, you just haven't been trying hard enough.

Sirius Black walked through the house at 12 Grimmauld Place according to the instructions of the painting of his mother. The woman he had not been able to stand since he was nine, or even talk to without cursing since he was fourteen. Each place he went to, each trap he disarmed led him closer and closer to his revenge, to bringing justice to the murderer of James and Lily. Here he picked up a set of four talking mirrors, there five hundred Galleons. Alongside him walked that young smiling git, a Slytherin for sure. Not only had he played Mother's portrait, Sirius was certain he could have played the old girl herself if she had been there in the flesh. Must keep mind on the business though, turn _this_ knot in the wainscoting to the left, the panel pops open, keep your hand away from the poisoned needles on the right and take out the generic wand. It might not be a handcrafted and fine tuned Ollivander Special, but it would do. After all, so much of magic was a matter of will and intent. And no one had ever had such good training on maintaining intent and hardening their will as did someone who not only been in Azkaban, but actually escaped it. There were more goodies to be gathered, but he had enough now for his one purpose. Do the job, and then die happy.

All things considered Hahn had played square with him, no reason to drag him down. Whatever plot he was working on couldn't be in Peter's favor, do the kid a favor and take him off the board. Sirius turned, pointed the wand and began to cast a Body Bind spell. It would take the kid hours to get free, by which time the rat living at The Burrow would be dead and Sirius would probably be beyond any recriminations.

When Sirius turned toward him, holding the wand he had just gotten out of a booby trapped hidden compartment in the wall Leo knew something was going totally wrong. As the man started to knock out some Latin sounding phrase Leo pivoted on his left foot putting all his weight into a round house kick with his right. Despite being noticeably bigger Black was knocked into the wall and then collapsed. Kicking the wand away from Black's hand he stood over the man and did another series of mental evaluations.

"Naughty Mr. Black, naughty. Fairly stupid also. You are simply in no shape to go all avenging angel right now. You need to build yourself up, get some information, and change your barber. From what you tell me every wizard and Muggle law enforcement type in Britain is looking for the man who escaped from Azkaban. So to get anywhere you will have to not be that man. I've sent Kreacher out on a little errand, he should be back soon . Right now we are going to raid your father's closet and see if we can get you some clothes that are hideous in a completely different manner than your current sartorial disaster." Leo then helped Black up and led him the door of the Master Bedroom.

"You fight like some Muggle," Black muttered.

"You haven't seen Muggles fight yet."

As the door opened and Black saw how Hahn looked in to see an opulent late Victorian bedroom, dust covering the furniture and most of the floor, except for a cleared path between the window and the four poster bed. There was a thick covering of dust on the bed itself, though. Black saw Hahn's eyes widen for a second, then take on a blank look. The wand was pressed back into the wizard's hand as Hahn pulled a short folding shovel out of the prissy bag he wore over his shoulder all the time and snapped it open, then pushed his hand into his pocket. "Why don't you be a friend and roll something under the bed?" Asked the younger man.

Sirius knew that the dust showed that something was living under the bed, probably another of the minor and harmless creatures that moved in to any magical place left unoccupied too long. He cast a quiet _Lumos_ and shown the beam so it went a bit under the bed frame. Something started to quickly slide out from underneath. As it came out if unfolded and became taller and taller, things long and scythe-like began to pivot out from its' forearms. Hahn's face grimaced, then he jumped into the room swinging the shovel like an axe. The thing blocked the swing with one of its' blades, but that just gave Hahn the momentum to spin on his left foot and bring the shovel's blade up in a vertical cut starting at the crotch and ending and exiting the body just where the abdomen became the chest. Guts slithered out of the body in a red rush. The thing collapsed. "What, what was _that_!" Sirius yelled at Hahn.

"That was how Muggles fight," came the flat voice of the other.


	10. Chapter 10

I do not own or receive any benefit from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 10-Bodyguard of Lies

"That's how Muggles fight," Hahn said in a flat voice, like a bored teacher lecturing a dim student. Sirius was still looking at the corpse lying on the floor. He wondered if the pool of blood spreading across the dust covered wooden floor would seep in and drip through the ceiling of the room below. If he remembered correctly Mother had used it as a sewing room. Now of course Mother was dead. She only existed on this side as a painted image with much of her knowledge, but only a fraction of her spite. "No, I meant what the hell did you just kill," Sirius asked again, "I've never seen anything like it. There shouldn't be anything like it."

The same level voice replied: "Odd, there seems to be a spate of these things, lately. Do you think I would be impertinent to name it a Balrogette? I have always so wanted to name a hideous beast!" At the end Hahn's voice had slipped back into what Sirius was starting to label his "fake innocent" tone. That didn't disturb Sirius; it was the voice of the calm killer that lurked behind it that was disturbing. He had heard Death Eaters often enough, and when they were being social, or lying, they sounded normal enough. When they were in battle, or recently had been, there was a feverish note of eagerness when they spoke, none more so than dear Cousin Bella. They were never so calm when there was the scent of blood in the air. The closest Sirius could remember to that voice was probably old man Moody when he had taken down an enemy with a neat combination of spells. The young man started to slowly smile; he seemed to use his smile like Albus Dumbledore used his twinkling eyes. Who could deny something to someone showering you with one of those expressions?

Hahn shook most of the blood off the blade of the shovel with a wrist flick, then it hummed for a second and the rest of the gore came off in a fine mist. He twisted a thick ring near the blade and it folded up against the handle, to be quickly slipped back into the prissy shoulder bag. He walked over to a wardrobe and opened it, then took out and shone a Muggle torch in to check the contents. "This will do. Come Mr. Black, let's see if you are man enough to fill your father's shoes, or at least trousers." Hahn went back to the head of the stairs and called out: "Kreacher! We need you up here!"

Kreacher popped up to the landing, and following Hahn's pointing finger went into the bedroom. He took a startled step back on seeing the Balrogette sprawled out on the floor. Sirius stammered out, "Clean that up. And, and clean up all the blood. And get me a suitcase. And…"

As Sirius ran down Hahn finished things by saying: "Suitcase first. You _do _think these will fit then, Mr. Black? Then clean up, check for bleed through. And of course, after informing Madam Black of the noisy situation we have had here; discipline yourself in a suitable non-fatal and non-crippling manner. We will finish the shopping and fitting in a room with better natural light. Clean up after us there too, Kreacher, that's a good Elf!" He then walked past Sirius to the open wardrobe, grabbed an armful of assorted coats and pants, went to a dresser, stood silent for a moment, and without touching it had a drawer open and several shirts (perhaps a little yellow with age, but in the gloom who could tell?) float up and follow him as he left the room and went down the stairs to the kitchen. Sirius followed him out and down; grabbing the suitcase Kreacher had popped in without a moment's hesitation. Partially he wanted to avoid staying in the room with Kreacher and the bloody corpse, partially to get to a place where he could give Hahn a piece of his mind for ordering around a Black House Elf! A detested and revolting House Elf perhaps, but still something only a Black should give orders to.

Before Sirius could get his harangue going Hahn had thrown the clothing down on the table, examined and selected one of the shirts, ripped the arms off, and had it soaking in a tub full of hot, soapy water. "Strip down a bit, Mr. Black. You can't sneak up on anyone if you let anyone within ten yards smell you as an unwashed convict, or a damp dog. We'll make do with these things until we can get something a bit more contemporary."

"What the hell are you doing?" Sirius demanded. "Kreacher is a..." at which point a wet and soapy shirt was thrown in his face with a demand that he get all the hard to reach places clean too. Hahn started sorting through the pile of coats and jackets, ignoring Sirius as he fumed and took off his filthy prisoner's robe and rotting underwear. Letting lots of water slop onto the floor he rubbed the shirt over his body, rinsed it in the tub and then went over his body again. Hahn looked up from checking through a handled paper bag and wandlessly had another shirt fly to him for a towel. As he used it Sirius wondered: if Hahn was good enough to do magic without a wand, why didn't he transform the shirt into something better? Then again, he had a wand now, why hadn't he remembered to?

Sirius went over to the pile of clothes, and started to dress, abandoning any idea of putting on his unrepairable underclothes. When he had gotten a pair of trousers on (the self-sizing charm still worked) Hahn called him over, and motioned him to sit in a chair. Sirius did, wondering what new indignity was coming. He saw Hahn reach into the bag again and take something out before he walked behind Sirius. Suddenly he felt the hair on the top of his head grabbed and an ominous _Snip, Snip _ was heard. Before he could protest Hahn spoke to him in that "butter wouldn't melt" tone of voice of his.

"Don't even bother complaining. You said that there are wanted posters out about you, well without your flowing locks and beard they won't be worth anything for letting people know what you look like. Besides after one cut from one of my haircuts, you'll be eager to shave your whole head. You already look like a disaster!"

Sirius did try to protest, but there already were hands full of long and permanently greasy hair falling to the floor. Hahn seemed in a manic mood and walked around him cutting off sections of beard, pieces of mustache and huge swaths of head hair. Going back to the bag he pulled out a hand mirror and gave it to Sirius. "How does Monsieur like his little trim?" Hahn asked.

Sirius had never seen a more barbarous piece of tonsorial butchery. It was Marauder level work. He had always been a little vain, and proud of his looks. Now he knew there was only one way to go, at least until everything grew back in. He went to the sink, turned on the hot water and soaked his head. Hahn handed him a razor and a metal canister. The razor was obvious, what was he supposed to do with the can, drink it while he shaved? Hahn's eyes widened a little bit, and he took back the can, shook it a few times, and then used it to fill Sirius' hand with white foam. Sighing a bit Sirius rubbed it all over his head and face. Trusting to fate he began to shave everything that was left off. "Can I at least save my eyebrows?", he asked.

"Perhaps just a little trim, they seem a bit… bushy? I'll just give them a touch up when you're done."

"No! I'll do them myself, no trouble, no trouble at all."

Fully shaved and dressed the pair presented the new Sirius Black to Lady Black and Kreacher. Neither recognized the bald, beardless, frail and pale man. Walburga was vastly pleased. It was obvious that Sirius had finally come to appreciate what it meant to be a Black, and was willing to any lengths to restore the family honor. She was really sorry she wasn't alive to fully feel the glow of seeing her son go out on a mission of honorable torture and murder.

They left the house and after going down several streets Hahn turned in to a tobacconist shop and used the pay phone inside to call someone. Twenty minutes later a non-descript automobile pulled up and Hahn led Black into the rear seat. Sirius didn't much care by then where they were going as long as there was a meal at the end of the voyage. As they pulled into the lot of the cheap Motor Inn he saw a number of equally classless eating places within walking distance.

After a few moments registering the bald Mr. Peters, and getting his bag into his room they left in the car again, dropping off Hahn and Peters at the _Frog and Peach_, a place advertising fine food and beverage. For the first time in a dozen years (excepting this morning's sandwich with the trimmings) Mr. Peters enjoyed steak with mushrooms, two pints of ale, salad, fresh bread and butter, pudding and coffee, fresh with real cream. Sure Hahn was his "minder", but if he was being manipulated it was at least by people who knew how to use the carrot as well as the stick.

On being left off at his room, with a request (when was the last time anyone had requested anything of Sirius Black?) not to go anywhere until they picked him up in the morning he was handed a little bag with tooth care products and wished a good night's sleep.

Full of food, ale and tired beyond measure Sirius barely took off his clothing before falling into the bed. Yes, the room was tacky, and yes the bed was lumpy. But he could turn off or on the lights, had a bathroom better than a bucket in the corner, and the lumpy bed had clean sheets and was not in Azkaban. After all, what more did a man need? He was asleep within seconds of his head hitting the pillow.


	11. Chapter 11

I do not own, or receive any benefit from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 11-Where the Weird Things Are

It had taken three weeks to get Sirius Black into anything near fighting trim. On the first morning after being picked up by the "Men from Cathay" (the traditional Wizarding British expression for truly strange and inexplicable people) he had wanted to start off after Pettigrew. Head off to Arthur Weasley's place in Ottery St. Catchpole and grab the rat, in whatever form he was in. The "Men from Cathay" were not happy about this idea, and refused him transportation. He'd always flooed into the Burrow when he had visited and had no idea of the Apparition coordinates. Taking the Knight Bus, even with his new haircut seemed ill-advised. But the final and most convincing argument was when Hahn had challenged him to a simple arm wrestle, and put him down with hardly a struggle. Sirius had a good four inches on him, and even in his current state outweighed him by twenty pounds, and Hahn hadn't broken a sweat or given a grunt to slam his arm down onto the table.

So Sirius had reluctantly agreed to rest, train and plan his next death-defying and insanely Griffindorish action. He was taken to a large house out in the country. Some of the MFC (Men from Cathay) usually stayed there overnight. He was put on a program of at least eight hours of sleep, a gradually increasing amount of physical exercise (including at the end some Muggle martial arts training from Hahn, revealing an entirely new personality), and spell casting to increase speed and precision, and several hours of interrogation by Quiller and Quartermain. The amount they didn't know about the Wizarding World was astounding. That they weren't Muggles was also evident in a dozen small ways. The magic they used was odd and subtle and always wandless. The oddness pushed Sirius to develop a theory. Or rather, several.

Before true wizards and witches developed their true wand technology there were other schools and methods of doing magic. Wands, being so obviously superior, had driven these other methods out of use, and all wizards now used them. Perhaps, though, in some forgotten valley or along some hidden coast a remnant of the old fashioned mages persisted. Perhaps they were now coming out into the new world and discovering the wonders of modern wizardry, and were using him as their guide. Was he a benefactor for helping the long lost brotherhood (as he had come into contact with half a dozen of them and there had been no women) back into communion with their relatives? Or alternately, was he a dupe helping some long sealed off cult (isolated by a powerful spell as a punishment for their crimes) in their pursuit of revenge? Even if it was poppycock, working on the theories, elaborating them and mentally testing them was a form of mental exercise for Sirius. After spending twelve years in Azkaban trying not to think or feel anything he figured getting his mind back in working shape was something he needed to do. As with Hahn, they certainly weren't Death Eaters. Hard men, he was sure of that, but not Death Eaters.

Now, after that morning's question and answer period Quiller had given him the go ahead and would drive him to Ottery St. Catchpole to see if he could wheedle the Weasleys and get their pet rat off of their hands. The condition was that Hahn go along to provide backup. Sirius didn't mind that, in the time spent getting back in shape (the good food and heavy exercise had put five pounds of muscle on him) he had seen how the others regarded Hahn. He was the youngest by far and the easiest to get along with. They often seemed amazed when he showed his skill at their Trade, as they called it, whatever it was. Hahn often sat in at their "debriefings" of Sirius, silent until by a short comment he clarified and resolved some point that had been giving them all minutes of complete mutual confusion, and then he went silent again. At least the MFC had it clarified, Sirius only understood what he meant about half the time. Still, Sirius had never actually caught him being wrong, just obscure.

Sirius decided to go up to Hahn's room and let him know they were going after lunch. He knew the young man would be there, he disappeared into the room every morning after running himself ragged going through his solo hand-to-hand training, and stayed for at least an hour or so. Sirius decided to let himself in without knocking. The lad had been entirely too serious the last few weeks, though there were rumors that he had been seeing a lass in the local village. Going in when he wasn't expecting it might well catch him in an embarrassing moment, not a proper prank perhaps, but certainly something to lighten the mood. A low pitched Alohomora and a quiet turn of the knob and the door silently opened to reveal Hahn sitting cross legged on the bed, facing the window. A dozen or so marbles whirled swiftly in an elaborate pattern around an empty center point two feet above his head.

There was no sound except for a slight whirring noise from the marbles. Hahn reached into a bag that was nest to him and picked out another one, it silently rose into the air and somehow managed to enter the pattern, all the others making way for it in their increasingly fast motion. The noise was growing louder as the speed increased, and slowly the whole ensemble began to drift upward a little, and toward the door. Sirius stood stock-still as it slowly moved over his head. If the whirling mass of kinetic energy started to come downwards he was definitely apporting out.

Suddenly the whole mass stopped and dropped down to the ground, as Nature had meant them to do. That Sirius' head was in the way was only a minor diversion as they each bopped him on his bald dome before continuing their journey.

"They _say _that it is humanly impossible to juggle more than thirteen objects at once. They _say. _Pick them up and count them, Mr. Black. Fifteen and I'll have seventeen by the end of the month. Oh dear, have I given something away?" Hahn put his feet down and turned, grinning one of his "I know something you don't know" smiles. He gave no explanation on how he knew it had been Sirius opening the door, he just looked pleasantly vague (a look he had apparently been working on heavily for the last week) as the expression on Sirius's face showed the look of the pranked upon.

Sirius realized there was no sense in asking how it had been done. Levitating one or two objects that size was really something any competent wizard could do. A few more was well within the reach of a good one, though moving them where they couldn't be seen was a bit hard. Making fifteen do an aerial dance at that speed was more than a bit on the tricky side. It wasn't the weight so much, as the motion. Dumbledore could certainly do it (Sirius took this on faith), but except for perhaps Flitwick he couldn't think of anyone else he knew who might be able to. "Quite a mess you've made here." He said, and left it at that.

Hahn nodded, put on his slightly blank look of concentration and one by one the marbles jumped through the air to be caught by his left hand and put into at cloth bag. Sirius knew that Hahn was right handed, but always caught things with his left for some reason. One by one fifteen round stones came out from wherever they had rolled to and were put away.

"So, do you sneak into my room bearing tidings of comfort and joy?"

"For me at least, I'm off to see an old school chum, and you are to come along to charm and distract housewives and children so they don't notice I'm breaking the neck of a rat. But we'll have lunch first, Quartermain's famous curry I think."

Hahn grimaced. He couldn't abide Quartermain's cooking. Sirius couldn't either, but felt it would be insulting to spurn his host's efforts. The last time Hahn had seen what Quartermain had been dishing out he had gotten up to make himself some tinned soup. It had been precious. A grown man enraged and bellowing at a stripling, who moved with gentle unconcern as he opened a can and put it in a pot to heat. Quartermain had been outraged enough to grab Hahn's shoulder, followed by swiftly screaming in pain and hitting the floor as the younger main reached up and grabbed his wrist with some twisting grip.

As Hahn stood over Quartermain and decided not to kick him, Quiller had barked out: "Enough! Stand down! John, you should know better than to grab the hired gun. And you, Gold, don't be so touchy. So you learned your bloody Karate in Japan and strut with your black belt, don't be such a damned show off about it."

"One, not Karate. Two, not Japan. Three, not a black belt. Four, if he reaches for that gun in his pocket he'll eat it." Said in voice as calm as if it was giving directions to a cabby. Then Hahn (or was it Gold?) went back to the stove and his soup. Yes, it had been both instructive and entertaining. Still, within a day they had reestablished a working relationship, and now it was evident that Hahn/Gold was willing to sacrifice his stomach to be polite.

After lunch they each went to clean up, then met on the front drive to get into the Vauxhall Cavalier, Sirius and Hahn (now wearing his on again, off again mustache) in the rear seat. Sirius decided, since that they were due for at least a hour's drive and it was time he learned something from them for a change, to do some of this "debriefing". After a series of questions on the Muggle world (they were going to visit Arthur, the topic was naturally one that came to mind) Sirius brought up several things that had confused him.

"So what is this Karate? Why Japan? And why should the belt be black?"

"It's a fashionable form of hand to hand combat, comes from Japan, lots of kicking and punching. Not a bad style, just not what I learned. They give you special colored belts to wear, like grade markings. Black is what the best wear. Again, not for me, at least yet."

"What is this Craft you're always talking about with each other? Masons?"

Looking a little confused Hahn thought about it, and then said: "You must mean Tradecraft. Just a term for knowing how to do the job right, like not breaking someone's cover (with a glare at Quiller driving up front), and how you handle being in the spook business."

Sirius thought on that. So they were imitating ghosts, intangible and capable of going almost anywhere. It fit with his hidden survivors scenario, the lost and dead coming back to investigate the living and vital. He wondered if ten per cent of his speculations were even near the truth. He suspected that if he broached them to Hahn the reply would either be an exact statement of fact or an elaborate and profoundly amusing flight of fancy. He decided to save the conversation for a rainy day, they were approaching the Burrow. Quiller drove right past it; well he didn't know what it looked like after all. Sirius got him to pull off the road after they passed a bend, and he and Hahn got out. The last scion of the Blacks went forward to take his revenge.

In the half mile walk back to the Burrow's front gate Sirius tried quizzing Hahn on how he was getting on with the local girl. The responses he got back were fairly inarticulate grunts and a slight blush. Sirius smiled, the confusing Mr. Hahn was evidently not as completely experienced as all that, at least in some aspects of life. He did seem to have made some progress, though, as he had snapped at one of Sirius's suggestions with, "She's really a nice girl!" and made a cutting motion with his hand to indicate the topic was finished.

When they got to the gate Sirius did a quick check to see if any high level wards were up, but just the usual "Muggle be Gone" ones seemed to be in place. So George Simmons, freelance magazine writer, and Phil Corvus, his assistant and photographer, walked up to the front door of the Weasley house and politely knocked on it. Then to wait, wait, and finally spot a note taped to the inside of the glass pane set in it. It was hard to read, being taped facing the wrong way out (which was why they hadn't realized what it was at the start. The writing was hard to read through the thickness of the paper, and it was, of course, reversed. Hahn's lit torch was able to make things legible. The note was simple: "Gone for a few days to drop the children off for School. Back Sunday. A&M Weasley."

Hahn tried to turn the doorknob, Looked at Sirius with a little grin when it didn't open the door.

"Do you think they'd leave the back door open?" Hahn asked. "As it is they seem a little casual about being hit by a burglar."

"Let's check, at the least it'll get us out of sight of the road."

It turned out the rear was locked too. A brief discussion brought agreement that the Rat might have been left at home, at least it was worth checking out the interior. The next few minutes had Sirius go through his repertoire of opening spells, with little effect. Though he might not look like it, Arthur was a more than decent wizard. Finally coming to the end of his bag of tricks, and unwilling to try breaking in and leaving some evidence of their visit Sirius suggested Hahn walk up the wall to the second floor and see if any of the windows were unlocked. Seeing Hahn practicing that last week had been a shock that left a lasting impression on the wizard.

Instead Hahn took the rear door knob in his hand and closed his eyes. For several minutes nothing happened, then with a click the door unlocked itself and slowly opened. There were a few beads of perspiration on Hahn's forehead. "Good locking, this." He said.

"Why didn't you do that with the front door?"

"Like you said, we _are_ out of sight of the road, back here."

After that they entered the cluttered house and quickly discovered there was no pet equipment on the ground floor. The next floor had more rooms, bedrooms, but no evidence of a rattery, the next up had another bedroom, and a stair leading up to an uninhabited attic. All this depressed Sirius, no chance to do this now; the Rat had gone with the boy to Hogwarts. He told Hahn that they might as well go. Hahn held his hand up, the gesture to hold on for a minute. Then he asked: "Which kid had the rat? Which room does he sleep in?"

"Ronald, the youngest. How would I know where he kips out? What does it matter, anyway? Peter's gone to school with him. We'll have to go up there to root them out."

"Does that which has been in contact, been a part of something, law of congejunction or something?"

"Merlin, that's First Year stuff. Law of Contagion, things that have been in contact have a lasting connection with each other. The more intimate the contact, the stronger the connection."

"Do you have a spell, summon rat or summon mouse? Both are better."

"Yes, easy as pie, but the damn Rat isn't here."

"Humor me, we find the boy's room and you cast your spells."

Sirius was depressed enough not to argue, and followed Hahn into the nearest room, the bedroom on their floor. When he got inside Hahn ignored the Chudley Cannons posters on the wall and made a bee line to the desk, glanced at a few papers on it, but found nothing else that satisfied him, and went over to the night table next to the bed. Observing an oblong series of scratches on it he took out his Muggle torch, and with some evident strain got it to light. He shone it around the edge of the table, nodded once and asked: "Mr. Black, the mouse spell, please. Do it over here."

Sirius went to the table and cast it. Nothing came shooting out of the walls. Evidently the Weasley's might be a little disorderly, but kept their house vermin free. Except for Peter of course, and they couldn't be held accountable for him, surely? Then, at Hahn's gesture Sirius repeated the spell, substituting for a rat instead. Again nothing came out of the walls. Sirius noticed his wand had become dusty; he'd have to get a maintenance kit. Hell, he should just go to the Alley and get a new one, this wand had never been fitted to him in the least, it had just what had been lying about the house. He got out his handkerchief and started to wipe it clean. "Stop!" Hahn's voice shot out.

Hahn walked over and shone the torch on the wand. It had a light coating of dust, and sticking out of it, like little grey antennae, were several dozen short hairs. "Surely with your considerable skills you should be able to construct an apparatus that, if these hairs prove to be, as I believe them to be, the hairs of the Rattus Rattus Pettigrewus, should enable you to locate him with increased facility."

Sirius forgave him his terrible imitation of Sherlock Holmes (they had both seen a TV program of one of his cases two nights earlier) and started to look for something to place the hairs into for safety. With some supplies, another reason to get to the Alley, a Peter compass was within the limits of his talents. An envelope pilfered from the desk provided a carrying receptacle for the hairs. Then, satisfied at least in part they left the house, making sure that the back door was properly locked behind them.

As they walked back to the auto Sirius suggested that Hahn was just as glad the Weasleys weren't home. The way things had turned out they would be getting back to their residence early enough for Hahn to make some time for the object of his romancing.

To which there was the reply, "I love it when a plan comes together."

To which Sirius had no retort.

On the trip back Sirius sat up front and managed to wear Quiller down to agreeing to the need for a trip to Diagon Alley. Perhaps including a trip to Gringotts, more funds would certainly be useful. When he mentioned that in the auto Hahn gave a sigh of disbelief, and then an amused little "Maybe it could work. You say these Goblins aren't on the best of terms with the Wizarding Government."

Author's notes:

Sirius is wondering who Otto Hahn is. He certainly isn't Phil Corvus, and Sirius has a strong suspicion that he isn't really Otto Hahn either. Despite Quiller's mistake at the house the young man's name might not be Gold either. Sirius isn't sure that Quiller and Quartermain are real names either. He's wrong; they're just not the names of the men he thinks are attached to them.

The Law of Contagion is one of the classical basic three laws of magic, even Muggles know them.

The relationship of the Goblins, and Gringotts Bank, with the Wizarding world is fraught. Just really complicated and fraught.

The Weasley ghoul kept silent and hid from those nasty strangers. If he could have worked up the nerve he would have told Arthur, but he was too shy to talk.


	12. Chapter 12

I do not own, or receive any benefits from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 12-Someone else's Kansas

Leo was less than optimistic about this little excursion. There were two cut-off points built in, but he still didn't give better than 6-to-5 against for everything coming off right. Black was certain that their ambiguous, but (this time) legal paperwork would get them into the bank, and that after twelve years no one in the street would recognize him with his chrome dome, clean shave and nifty shades. Maybe so. Leo kind of liked Black, but there was always the possibility that he'd try to buy his way back into the Wizarding World's good graces by turning over a whole bunch of MFC (his description of his benefactors had leaked and had amused all the AGER personnel), as a sign of his enduring loyalty. Leo also wasn't comfortable with carrying around five thousand pounds in cash; it was a lot more pocket change than he was used to actually having in his pocket.

They had made another trip back to Grimmauld Place to pick up Walburga's Gringotts key and some official House of Black letterhead stationery along with the family seal and sealing wax. With Black's normal faked identification (the Wizarding World didn't seem to have any particular official ID except for certain government officials) they should be able to breeze through things. Leo was always worried about "should" when there was no viable exit strategy but bulling forward if things fell apart.

While they had been at the Blacks' place he had reminded Kreacher that cut flowers, even if the water was refreshed daily, only lasted a few days and had to be disposed off. He had also had a nice talk with Walburga's portrait, and informed her of his quest to get a working Player Piano with some decent music rolls. Black had finished his search of the library for useful books and had joined in on the conversation with some opinions on possibilities of spells that would provide power for the works and save Kreacher's short legs from having to provide it all. Considering all things that afternoon had gone off pretty well.

So now (September 6, 1993) Black carried an official notice that he carried a key to the Black family vault, and was authorized to take from it up to 1,000 galleons, and two objects a month. The paper, ink, wax (enchanted to be only used by a proper Black, of course) and seal were all certifiably proper. That the ink had been applied to the paper only a week ago and artificially aged was, they hoped, either immaterial or undetectable. No dates had been applied to the notice to avoid setting off goblin fraud detection spells. All it mentioned was "he who presents this" was to be allowed access to the vault, and the limits. That, it was hoped, would keep the goblins from getting more suspicious about a scam by burglars. It was odd that in a way everything they were doing was (probably) legal. Unless there was some sort of official system of police notification, or if the accounts had been taken over by the government. Black, who had been a wizard cop, an "Auror", said that since he hadn't gotten a trial there couldn't be any way it could have been done. But Leo was not too sure that law and corrupt governments had much to do with each other. Oh well, according to Black the Ministry of Magic was such a mass of tradition, ineptitude, and bureaucracy that they had a good chance. Also, he had sworn that the goblins managing the bank would love to take any chance to thwart the Ministry's desires that they could get away with.

Being one of the only five people (non-wizard variety) currently in the British Isles who had a good chance of not being noticeable by falling for their "anti-Muggle" illusions there had been little chance Leo would miss going into the wizard's den again. After all, he was the designated fall guy if British espers ended up having to explain a disaster. They had even given him a "wand" so he wouldn't stand out. True, it was actually a drum stick that had been given a mahogany stain and a good wax job, but it _looked _like a wand, though different enough that Black said it might be considered suitable for a foreign origin wizard. Aside from his wand he had his usual kit, including cameras, a set of goggles and two tear gas grenades packed in his shoulder bag.

He had few regrets, aside from the whole maybe dying or being made a mental vegetable thing. He missed his family, might never go to college, and it had been a week since Janice had gone back to college. Seven lonely nights. At least he was no longer a virgin father. Actually, as he added them up, he had a lot of regrets. Nothing really mattered though, except the job.

Leo was a step behind Black as they went up the steps of the Leaky Cauldron. Black, now flying under the false flag of George Simmons, gave a nod to the bartender and walked clear through the place and into the back courtyard. With a quick series of taps on a brick (three up and two across, Leo noted) the wall opened up into what Leo was sure was either the first cousin to Oz, or something Charles Dickens had dreamed while hitting the opium pipe too hard.

Diagon Alley was a _neat _Victorian shopping street, no carts being pulled by horses to block pedestrians (and no horse's… leavings either). The shop windows were large and clean a number of them in the process of being redecorated, as the back to school shopping period was over. Leo took a series of photos, as discretely at he could, every few dozen paces all the way from the pub to the steps of the bank. As Black went up the stairs past the massive metal doors, Leo peeled off to use some of the few Galleons Black had lent him from the Grimmauld cache at a coffee shop with a view of the entrance. If Black didn't come out in an hour, or if the cops started popping into view even sooner, Leo was to cut and run. How to get out of the Alley was left up to his powers of improvisation. Which was another way of saying "Sucks to be you!"

As things chanced the coffee was good, the Mizzleberry scones even better, and Black was out of the bank in forty-five minutes. He went to his assigned waiting place, an outside table at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. When Leo came out he would meet with him there. If Black was eating with his left hand, everything was fine. If not, back to Plan Improvise. Leo settled his account, left a twenty percent tip (was he too high, too low? Did Wizards tip at all?) and made his own way to Gringotts and the rapacity of goblin banking.

Leo didn't take any pictures of the inside of the bank, even Normal banks were likely to be a bit touchy about people doing that. He had been in impressive buildings before, and appreciated how this one had been designed to humble the clients with how important the bankers were, and how insignificant the wizards approaching them were. The goblins themselves were interesting to look at but hardly scary. They may have had big teeth, but he had bigger ones on a chain around his neck. They may have looked odd, but they certainly beat out a two months dead zombie in the looks department, and he had handled those. What offended him was that the exchange rate was rigged in the Wizarding World's favor, and that the bank's service fee was twelve per cent. Five would have been plenty in most places (seven in Switzerland), they must have figured out that he had just fallen off of the turnip cart (the robes he had gotten from Grimmauld Place were obviously out of date) and were pushing the powers of their monopoly in local banking for all it was worth. Five thousand pounds converted into only nine hundred twenty Galleons, legalized robbery! Leo was proud of the note of righteous indignation he was able to put into his voice, without quite breaking out into profanity. Anything less would have implied he was trying to avoid being noticed, which was one of the most noticeable things possible to the observant. And Leo had seen a dozen observation posts and mirrors scanning the floor of the bank. From the way none of the other customers were reacting to these (and wizards were exceptionally vain, in general) the observers were hidden from ordinary wizards, at least those not taking special pains.

Leaving Gringotts he looked around, without being obvious, for suspiciously casual acting people. The type that were in superior physical shape and kept their hands near their wands, without seeming to. The type who would check out a street scene before them just as he was. Leo blushed a bit, he realized then that he was still too new at the game to "do without acting, see without looking", as his martial arts instructor would say when he decided to be sage-like, usually after he had seen a kung-fu picture on TV the night before.

Black was sitting comfortably at a table, left hand busy spooning something with very bright colors into his mouth. After one more (hopefully smoothly done) check for tails Leo sat down next to him. "Rainbow Delight Special, George?" He asked. "Or perhaps just a very confused cow?"

Black smiled and contentedly answered: "No Fortesque's for twelve years , and that chilled lard Quartermain served had no right to be called ice cream at all. Here is the real stuff, the justification for the domestication of the cow. _This_ is ice cream! Care for a bite?"

"George, we're not really that friendly. Order me a small chocolate, will you, while I go inside and use the facilities."

When Leo got back to the table his small (actually not too small at all, Fortesque's believed a satisfied customer led to repeat business) bowl was waiting for him, and Black was working on another serving of ice cream, nuts, berries, syrups and various different colored foams. Evidently doing magic burned the calories off of people, Black regularly ate twice as much as anyone else at the house, but only put on a few pounds, and they were muscle.

When they were done Black settled the tab and led the way to Knockturn Alley, the low-rent portion of the local Wizarding commercial world. Leo certainly noted an increased level of dirt and dinginess, and a lot of the guys-on-the-corners hangers-about that he had noticed in the less savory (and safe) parts of some of the towns he had done missions in. He kept his eyes and ears alert, followed Black pretty closely, and kept a light Teek barrier up about eight feet behind them. It wouldn't stop anyone, but he would feel it if someone pushed their way through. At O'Rourke's Fine Wands Black was evaluated and offered a custom made wand in two weeks (20 Galleons) or an off the shelf for eight. Black wanted one in the hand, and after twenty instructive minutes (to Leo) he had one. As they left Black whispered to Leo that the wand from Grimmauld Place had let him use about forty per cent of his power, this one would be nearer eighty-five per cent.

At Nordlinger's Potion and Ingredients Shoppe Black spent over five hundred Galleons on cauldrons, piping, bottles and various fresh bits of animals, plants and the odd mineral. Another ten was spent on getting proper Shopping Bags. About the size of large Normal ones they held ten times as much, reduced the weight of the contents, were water and flame resistant and were guaranteed tear resistant to all non-magical assaults from non-bladed instruments. Leo had his doubts about that, and had done a thorough Sie on an unused bag. Properly used Teek could certainly tear it, and there was a good chance Pyro would set it off. Advertising is the same the world over evidently.

They then went to Borgin & Burkes to pick up some more specialized equipment and books. According to Black the Ministry had, for the last several decades, been slowly restricting certain fields of study available to the general wizardly population, for their own good. Among them were mind reading (Legillimency) and resistance to mind-reading (Occlumency). After all, you don't want just anybody being able to invade their neighbor's privacy. That should be reserved for the Aurors! And being able to resist an Auror's Legillimency was something only a criminal would want to do anyway! Nothing was being legislated on, there was no law, just a slow and steady erosion of what decent people would know about what could be known. It was for their own good. The main publishers and bookstores gradually restricted their backlists and stock, in return for getting contracts for government printing, importing foreign books, or being an official outlet for educational supplies and books. By now only high-end used book stores that dealt with the upper crust, or low and dirty places (like Borgin & Burkes) really carried an unrestricted collection. Just as there were more spells being declared "Dark" every year than were being created, there were more types of magic being abandoned than explored.

Looking around the interior of Borgin & Burkes Leo had a decent idea of the justification of that philosophy. The place looked like the opposite of a Police Supply store, it was a Criminal Supply store. He was almost disappointed not to see a section labeled "Burglar's Tools", and another one called "Blunt Instruments." Still, they had what he was interested in, and the discounted older textbooks would find a use back at Headquarters also. He lent Black a bit of money when his money ran short getting some of the more esoteric and disreputable potions ingredients that B&B specialized in.

The light had faded by the time they left the store. Of course the street lamps were either not operating at all, or just dimly glowing enough to give late season moths a target for their flight. Leo expected Bill Sykes (ala _Oliver Twist_) and company to step out of a conveniently shadowed doorway and threaten them. Some expectations are born to be disappointed, this one wasn't.

A stylishly clad gentleman (if your style was for 1870) stepped out of the gloom, with a set of human bookends and announced over his gleaming wand pointed at Black's face: "Don't make a move, just hand over your goods and money, you have no hope of resistance." At that his henchmen pointed their wands at the obviously greater threat, Black. He was bigger, older and looked cool in his well fitted robes and designer sunglasses worn at night. Leo couldn't resist it, in his deepest voice he intoned: "Your lack of faith leaves me… disappointed." As the last word went out he concentrated and ignited the waxed surface of the leader's wand with Pyro. All eyes (except Leo's) were drawn with fascination to the flickering flames. When the leader started to swing the wand wildly, hoping to put it out, Leo stepped two paces forward and snap-kicked the kneecap of Bookend Left into several pieces, followed up with a pivot and another kick that snapped the wand out of his hand. While he had been doing this Leo had Teeked two nails out of his pocket and moved them into the ears of Bookend Right. Remembering to pull out his wand he warned: "One move from you and I make them meet in the middle."

Black had meanwhile floored the remaining mugger with a rather traditional series of lefts to the gut, followed by as right cross to the chin. All things considered Leo was not impressed with the level of criminal skill in the area. After relieving the robbers of their cash (one hundred six Galleons and change), goods (three wands, a Foe-glass and a shrunken chest) they were tied up and left in some suitable shadows. They weren't gagged; if they were foolish enough to call out in this neighborhood and chance who would answer, that was their lookout.

Black was rather perky after the encounter, his first episode of action since his escape and he hadn't frozen or dithered. Sure, his knuckles were split and bleeding, but it was a small price to pay for victory over the forces of (lesser) evil. The hundred six Galleons wasn't too shabby either. If his wand hadn't been in his pocket while he carried his shopping he would have just dueled them (and seeing how Hahn handled a proper duel would have been interesting), but a good hand to hand thrashing was not without its' emotional satisfactions.

It was hard to get Black out through the Cauldron without getting a celebratory drink or three. Leo soon figured out that a few more drinks and a lot that shouldn't be said, would. Basically making each glass after the third one stick to the surface of the bar worked, it appealed to Black's sense of the Prank as an art form. To keep him amused, and quiet, Leo started waving his wand and started up on the other patron's glasses, until he reached his new limit of 17 separate objects. Then, sweat covering his body, Leo let go of everything and grinned through the pain. Holding 17 objects down onto a bar while eight wizards and two witches tried their best with muscle and spell to get them up had been at his limit for strength. As usual, that which did not kill him, hurt like hell.

A few streets later, deep in Muggle London Leo spotted a pay phone and gave a call for pickup. While they waited Black talked and relived the fight, complimenting Leo on finally getting into the spirit of wanded magic, and laughing like a loon at the memory of the faces of bar crowd as their throats were kept dry.

Back at the house Black disappeared for most of each day, except for the times Leo dragged him out of the shed he had made into a potions laboratory to exercise. The interesting colors of the smokes and vapors that went up the smokestack were only matched by the vile smells. Leo was surprised there wasn't a small pile of dead birds around the building.

Leo's main job the next few weeks was in walking around the parts of MI5 Headquarters that were important to AGER and spotting the Funny hat planted surveillance devices. There weren't too many, and after he had gone through a few times he had been able to plot them out well enough that the two other emergents that had a Shell that the MI5 boys trusted enough were able to spot most of them themselves on a separate walkthrough. Nothing was done about most of the…things. They were either made invisible (to the unprotected mind) or disguised as something else. The most vulnerable object was disguised as a portrait of a past famous agent, an awkward charwoman's mop handle and it was knocked off the wall and into a bucket of soapy water and ammonia. Leo thought that if she ever gave up char work the agent could get a job with the NHL for her stick work.

After that remote surveillance watched nothing happen for two weeks before someone literally appeared from nowhere in the office and placed a decorative wall hanging up where it could sweep the room. Then the man popped out. The next day Leo made a small delivery in his role as a sometime mail-boy and managed to get a response with his Eteek that indicated electronics would have a hard time working too near the half-model of Nelson's _Victory_ on the wall.

It finally had to be agreed that nowhere in MI5 was there a real safe place for open conversation. The bright spot was that there seemed, by the pattern of how things were placed, no special attention was being placed on AGER agents. The slow speed of the replacement, and the obvious nature of the replacement meant either great arrogance, or absolute subtlety. From Black's debriefings and other evidence it seemed that subtlety was not the wizard's strong point.

Aside from working at the MI5 building Leo was a visitor at most of homes of the AGER agents working at MI5, only two of those that had been in the original mind-wipe group had anything Funny hat around their homes. Normal MI5 workers that had been in the roundup were at least as thoroughly under observation Leo discovered.

On a free weekend Leo had gone up to Manchester, where Janice was at school. The whole affair had the quality called "bittersweet". They both knew that their lives were going in different directions, and they both knew that the next few hours would probably be the only ones they would ever have together again. They lived those next few hours to the hilt. Then they parted, sad but somehow not depressed. Both of them were young, and much to do before they were done with the world.

Leo was glad when the time had come to pay Hogwarts a visit, he wanted someone to get what they wanted out of life, and if that meant helping Black kill a man, well he had rarely heard of one that needed killing more.

Author's Note:

Psi, Esper, emergent, AGER, Children of the Fire all mean the same thing. Similarly Normal, peasant, prole and smerdy when used by an Esper about a non-Esper all mean the same thing, a lesser being.

Wand maintenance includes giving it a good wax rubdown to give it a good sheen, and make sure the wood is safe from water damage. And wax, well wax is used in candles, right?

Ollivander is certainly not the only wand maker and seller in the British Isles, his family have been in the business for over a thousand years and are practically bred for the job. His well made wands, and enormous stock allows fine matches with previously prepared ones. But a custom made one not only allows the fullest uses of a wizard's power, but also higher degrees of control.

Leo's first child was delivered on September 5th, 1993 by Caesarian Section. A fine healthy boy conceived by artificial insemination and borne by a young woman who had never met Leo Green, and probably never would.

Evidently electronics and Magic don't play well together, Eteek evidently is somewhere in-between, and can interact with both.

After the disaster of the Dementors boarding of the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of the Term the train has been kept free of them. They creep people out.

Leo has a moderate (Orange belt) level of skill at Nanquan style Wushu, a southern Chinese style of martial arts that emphasizes a low stable stance and short, strong kicks and punches. He is also trying to learn a weighted rope style weapon, called the "Meteor Hammer" (weighted at both ends and about a meter long). He is not very good at it, yet. He is learning this style because it was taught at the nearest training hall to his home when he started to train (encouraged by AGER for health and safety reasons) at age nine. The owner/chief trainer is the son of a refugee from the Communist takeover of China in 1949; the family just happened to settle in the Los Alamos area and opened up a traditional style training hall.


	13. Chapter 13

I do not own or receive any benefits from the Harry Potter properties

Out of the West

Chapter 13-My Hates in the Highlands

Black had never been the best at the wizard teleporting thing, and as Leo would be going with him on his trip to Hogwarts, to prevent complete magical exhaustion on arrival the decision was made to go by the Hogwarts Express. Brooming up would have been awkward, and going via Muggle means would have attracted attention at their destination. Also it gave them both a chance to settle their nerves as they went into a total Wizarding environment for who knew how long, with a murder at the end of it.

A shrunken chest held all of Black's necessaries, including the twenty seven different types of potions he had brewed beforehand. He also had a well stocked picnic basket from Fortnum's. Leo carried his usual shoulder bag (with the inclusion of the tear gas grenades), a medium sized hard shell suitcase with wheels containing his clothing and a box of twelve self launching survival flares. Over his other shoulder was a case with an older, but still first quality Hasselblad camera, telephoto lenses and film. In his jacket besides the usual, now including the wand, were a Berretta 81 pistol and three extra magazines (48 rounds of 7.65mm ammunition). When they changed these would be transferred to various pockets in his robe; they really ruined the drape of the jacket. Black wasn't impressed with Muggle firearms, but his view of them was the typical Wizard one, formed before Sam Colt made all men equal. He _had _been kind enough to put some protective spells on the pistol, making it less likely that it would be turned into a banana.

If Sirius hadn't put his hand on his shoulder as they walked through to track 9 ¾ Leo would have ended up with a sore nose on the wrong side of the barrier. Not all of the anti-Muggle protections wizards put up were illusions. Having to assist Leo through the barrier confirmed Sirius's theory that the MFC were the remnant of a primitive Wizarding community that had just recently re-entered the world. He didn't know that the AGER team (having had a Hier sensitive regularly read his mind) encouraged that theory.

It rained all the way up to Hogsmead Station. Leo discovered that wizards kept their trains a temperature a New Mexico boy felt was a bit low for early October. Of course England itself had felt chilly and damp since he'd got there, his tan had been fading too, no matter how much he exercised shirtless outside. He put on his Wizarding robes as another layer of insulation and settled down to meditate and study the art of Occlumency. It didn't, technically, require wizardly skills and he had been studying various mind arts (memory training, meditation and nerve control) since he was twelve. The Hier who had given him a checkout before he had packed his bags had noticed his impossible to read mind had become in some way, differently impossible to read. In fact the probe attempt had actually been somewhat painful to the Hier. Leo considered that proof he was doing well in his studies, his mental image of his defenses was of a dense forest of hooked briar thorns forming a maze leading to a series of hidden pits with stakes at the bottom. He had seen the movie Sleeping Beauty as a kid and really been impressed with the witch's barrier around the castle.

At the end of a long ride they pulled into Hogsmead Station at about 8:30, and went to the Three Broomsticks, each getting a room. They met down in the dining area, Sirius getting a full meal, while Leo had tea and toast. Their discussions were general, getting to know the area, doing some hiking in the Forbidden Forest, a typically wizardly sort of thing to do. Sirius was doing his best to chat up the very well built owner who was handling her late arriving customers. Not wanting to cramp his style Leo paid up and took a walk around the town.

He couldn't imagine more than a few hundred people lived in Hogsmead; it made Los Alamos look like a major metropolis. The general architecture was just one side of twee, and he wasn't sure which side. Most of the shops seemed to have residences above the main floor, and by now, 10 PM, a fair number were lightless and quiet. Others had faint noises of music (mostly the Wizarding Wireless station), or family conversations. Every once and a while Leo would stop, and try to use a light touch of Teek as a kind of vibration sensing device to listen in at these. If he concentrated he could feel the vibrations, but putting them into sounds was just beyond him.

After a while he saw the road that led up to the gates of the school, about a half mile away. He set out at a hard trot up the road, tapping the gate when he got there, and turned back at the same pace. Running with robes was a lot more awkward than he had imagined. Their advantage was the number of pockets they could hold, and how much they could conceal beneath their exteriors. Currently he was carrying is entire combat kit on him, mostly in the inner pockets of the robe.

After killing a bit more than an hour, he felt he had given Sirius enough time to score if he was going to that night, and headed back to the inn. When he got back a man was tending the last few customers at the bar, and both Sirius and Rosmerta, he thought had been her name, were not around. Wishing them both well he went to his room, changed and called one of the inn's house elves to clean and dry his robes and boots before turning in.

Waking early he slipped out of the inn and had a good run, returning just as the town started to come awake. After cleaning up he dressed up wizardly and went to wake up Black. Outside the door he checked out Sirius's status, currently alone in bed. Assured that he wasn't interrupting anything Leo knocked on the door, loud enough to wake if not the dead at least the sleeping. It took a bit, but Sirius responded and agreed to meet him downstairs in ten minutes for breakfast.

At the meal Leo talked of the healthy habits of the local residents, their clean little town, the abundant and healthy food (a goodly portion of which was on his plate), and their wise habit of an early bedtime. Sirius looked like someone who expected the axe to drop at any moment, holding back any comment until he could be sure his retort was the right one. As they left the inn for their morning walk (and first daylight reconnaissance) Sirius couldn't stand the suspense any longer and just blurted out, "Yes!"

"Congratulations." Leo responded and went back to discussing the lay of the land. It wasn't until they were under the shade of the oversized trees of the Forrest that he asked: "Does she have a sister?" This set Sirius off laughing.

They circled around, outside the boundaries of the school. Every quarter mile or so they would approach close enough for a series of telephoto pictures of the school. The lenses were good enough, in this light, to allow Sirius to identify two of his former teachers as they walked by on outdoor walkways. He was seriously impressed by the Muggle workmanship, it was really better than any Wizarding device or spell than he knew of for the purpose. Leo noted down exactly which direction (to the best he could with a compass) the picture was taken from, and the time. By early afternoon they had covered about ten miles all told, and taken pictures from over two thirds of the circuit. They were coming into increasingly steep terrain and going any further would require further preparations for an overnight stay. Also they had used most of the film.

They walked back a bit deeper into the woods and at a quicker pace as they didn't have to worry about wandering too far away from the school to get a decent picture, or getting in too close to be concealed. Sirius was asking why this was all necessary; he could just sneak in to the school one night through any of his remembered secret entrances. Leo was going on about needing to know if there had been new construction that might have changed the internal layout and blocked his secret passages when Sirius hit him with a shoulder block and sent him to the ground in time to avoid an arrow aimed with deadly intent.

Sirius rolled to his knees with his wand in hand facing the centaur that was trying to nock another arrow. His partner had landed less well, but somehow had gotten his pistol in hand and was checking toward their rear. Sirius yelled, "Accio bow!", but the centaur held onto it with a struggle, at least it dropped the arrow it had been trying to prepare and had to reach into the quiver on its back for another. That gave Sirius another idea and he tried, "Accio quiver!"

While the strap holding it to the centaur didn't break the quiver did manage to flip around and start to spill the arrows out. The centaur frantically tried to grab the arrows, and it was _then _it dropped the bow. It knelt down and grabbed the bow, and started to pick up an arrow.

After checking that nothing was coming at them from the rear Leo had jumped to his feet, half stumbling thinking, "I am definitely carrying too much junk," pulled out the entrenching tool and snapping it open as he ran at the centaur. He got to it just as it managed to get the bow in one hand and an arrow in the other and was preparing to push itself off of its front knees up to a proper upright position. Before it could do that Leo swung the short shovel, flat side facing, into its' head. The loud "boing" was familiar to all those who love comedy. To someone who just had two and a half pounds of shovel bashed against their right ear the humor was somewhat hidden. Being big and tough it took two more swings, the last with both hands powering it, to settle the matter, and the man-horse, completely.

Leo made sure his opponent was staying down, and then went back to where he had dropped his gun. He puffed out as he picked it up: "I could hear that you weren't trying to do anything terminal to the guy, so I didn't take off anything important." Then he went back to the unconscious centaur and cut the bowstring, then searched in the pouch it had on the leather strap that held the quiver, and took the two extra bowstrings that were there, as well as a long knife in a sheath. "I'd like to have a little talk with Sparky here. Alright with you?"

Sirius had no objection to Hahn finding out what was going on. When he had last been in these parts the centaurs had been reclusive, not homicidal. He watched as the younger man hobbled the front feet, and when Hahn had stepped back far enough Sirius cast a spell (no use wasting a potion) to revive the centaur. The effect wasn't as quick and thorough as Sirius had imagined, perhaps the sheer bulk of the target had something to do with that.

As it came awake, and realized it's position, disarmed, bound and at the mercy of two humans, the centaur resigned itself to fate, and decided to go down defiantly. "I will betray nothing to you scum! Do your evil and depart. We shall not part with an inch or a tree but at the cost of your lives!"

"Phil Corvus, here, dealer in panoramic photography." Leo figured it was probably a bad idea to give the centaur the idea he was thinking of casing the place before having a housing development built there. "And you are…?"

All I all it was not the most successful interrogation Black had ever been at. The centaur had been well educated, and so was able to curse them out in four classical languages. His (the gender was obvious to the merest glance) opinion of them, both in a species sense and a personal one, was less than positive. If, as they say, a mule driver is the most profane person on earth certainly a centaur was capable of being the most obscene species. After a good twenty minutes of non-stop insults Leo contemplate taking the shovel and knocking it out again just to have some quiet. Deciding enough was enough Leo Teeked a blockage in the centaur's airway. As the demi-human spluttered into silence Leo motioned to Sirius to start back again to the village. As they were leaving the scene he turned and spoke to the gasping centaur: "If we were half the things you were calling us, you'd be dead now."

They were unmolested the rest of the way back to the inn. They arrived in time to clean up before a much earlier supper than the night before. It somehow become Sirius's job to floo back to London and drop off the film for development and get more, while Otto Hahn would check to see if certain secret entrances were still in place and unblocked. Sirius was not exactly sure how the division of labor ended up that way, in the end it was just so inevitable that things were the way they were. He would be coming back tomorrow, tonight would be a full night of rest before the chance of another night with sweet Rosmerta, once the focus of so many of his adolescent fantasies. He wasn't fully recovered yet after all and needed his sleep.

With Sirius gone Leo felt a measure of relief. While he liked the wizard well enough, just being "in role" all the time, and having to be in character as 'Otto Hahn" playing "Phil Corvus" was a bit tiring. While he might be Phil Corvus up here in Hogsmead, no one else knew who Phil Corvus was, letting him be himself. Working with between one and three layers of cover could get very confusing, even for a pro. At seventeen, with almost a year in various field missions under his belt Leo felt himself very much a pro. What someone like Quiller, with over twenty years on the job, would say about that was something that Leo was lucky not to have to hear.

He took his time wandering about the town, up the High Street and down it. Down little lanes between houses and gardens, and back to Three Broomsticks in time for an early lunch. Then over to Honeydukes, where there was a little sign hung up on the inside of the door saying: "Closed, Out to Lunch." The lock, a simple spell, was easy enough to get around now that he had so much experience with what the general magical population thought of as security. Flipping the sign around so it said: "Open Come Right In" Leo picked up a basket and shopped his way toward the back room, went in and checked out the hidden trapdoor that covered the secret tunnel into Hogwarts. It was still hidden, not trapped or alarmed as far as his Sie, training or magic detector could tell. That was simple device that had been run up with a series of circuits of varying sensitivity. As one after another failed they indicated either the strength of or distance to magic, more effective instruments were still being worked up. The tunnel, for at least the first ten feet or so was still in good shape, the ladder sound, and the hinges well oiled and cared for. That little bit of information was worth thinking on.

Feeling he had spent enough time in the back room he went up to the front counter with his selection and patiently waited there for twenty minutes until the clerk came back from a prolonged, and partially liquid lunch. The clerk was a little befuddled, but took the fact there was a customer waiting with a degree of pleasure, until a Hogsmead weekend was declared up at the school business tended to be slow until the week before Halloween. Having someone with four Galleons worth of purchases, wanting them to be gift wrapped (three Sickles extra), with a card saying: "Only you are sweeter" was a good thing to come back to after a slow morning.

As Sirius's current nom de guerre was George Simmons, Leo wrote "To Rosmerta from George" on the outside of the card and taped it onto the package. After checking at the Three Broomsticks that Black wasn't back yet, Leo left the package with the barkeep for delivery, and went to see the Shrieking Shack, the famously most haunted location in Britain.

The Shack made Grimmauld Place (even before its' recent renovation) look like Home Sweet Home. The rugged Scottish weather had given it a decent chance for victory in a contest for "Most Rundown House" in Britain. According to Sirius the doors and windows were actually dummies, never meant to be functional at all. As neither Muggle nor magical upkeep had been given to it this was pretty obvious by now, they looked like old stage sets looked at from too close range. Making sure that no one could see him Leo walked up the back wall to where a dormer with a faked window looked out over bleak fields toward the Forbidden Forrest. Leo thought he saw dark specks flying in the distance, whether they were crows or those Dementor things he couldn't tell.

Using a combination of Teek and his entrenching tool Leo managed to open up a hole in the side of the dormer big enough to slip inside. The magic level was low enough to allow his flashlight to work as he worked his way down into the basement Sirius had described and into the tunnel that led to Hogwarts. After about five minutes the light began to dim, and Leo had to use Eteek to keep it working. He finally came to the secret door cut out of the Whomping Willow. He opened it enough to get a view of the knot on the trunk that controlled the tree's aggressive tendencies, then closed it and went back to the Shack.

After checking for observers Leo climbed out onto the roof again, replace the boards loosely and walked down the wall again. Reminding himself that he was Otto Hahn pretending to be Phil Corvus again he made his way to the Three Broomsticks, where as he came in he saw Sirius in a booth with Rosmerta next to him, practically in his lap and practically purring. Sirius had a happy, but somewhat confused look on his face. Leo waved as he made his way to his room; Sirius gave a dazed nod in acknowledgment.

Later, as Leo was getting ready to go down for dinner Sirius knocked on the door, and came in. He tossed a folder sized envelope on the bed, then sat down beside it and said:"I knew I was good, but not that good! She was all over me from the moment I popped through the floo. Not I that I mind, but… Otto, do you mind we do our planning session tomorrow afternoon, rather than tonight? I'll be, ah, busy I believe."

Leo thought his little bit of matchmaking was more amusing if Sirius was left ignorant. As he wanted to go over the things in the envelope tonight by himself anyway he gave no objections to Sirius's forthcoming Night of Love. After all, in similar circumstances he would have wanted as understanding a partner himself. So he just agreed, after telling Sirius about his trips to Honeydukes and the Shrieking Shack, and the need to remember who was George and who was Phil. This left him free to take a lonely dinner, a bath, and prolonged look at the developed photos of Hogwarts, and blowups of sketch maps of Sirius, using his memories of the interior of the school.

The next morning Leo rose early, took a more lightly laden run, and made it down to breakfast before Sirius. When the wizard came down to join Leo as he was finishing his coffee he was greeted:"Pleasant night, George? You look a little worn. Perhaps you should have gone to bed a little earlier, or later?"

Sirius's reply was:"Really too nice a woman for joking about."

"Possibly something serious, no, cancel that. I did not say that!"

Black passed up his annoyingly predictable joke, which was just as well from a security view point. Which was really all the confirmation Leo needed that Sirius was getting emotionally involved? While Sirius finished breakfast he thanked Otto for his thoughtful confectionary arrangements (meaning the joke had managed to slip under everyone's radar, sometimes nothing works), and mentioned that Rosmerta slept soundly after a little wine, and a lot of… attention. They left the dining room and building, taking a long walk along a path next to the railroad tracks, discussing their plan for action that night, after Rosmerta had had her wine and attention.


	14. Chapter 14

I do not own or profit from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 14-Midnight Ramblers

Leo Green (who was also sometimes the man called Leo Gold, who was known to some as Otto Hahn, who was traveling as Phil Corvus) crept silently out of the Three Broomsticks in the company of Sirius Black (who was only under one level of false identity as George Simmons) into the crisp and dark night. The stars shone down on Scotland unwinking through the mid-October sky. Wizards, when not partying, were an early retiring folk, and no-one had cause to party, evidently, that night. Or at least those that had (Julia Rosmerta smiled slightly in her sleep as she gave slight, ladylike, snores) felt no need to wander the streets with low-lives, criminals and criminals to be. That status attached itself to the above young men who were that night planning Breaking and Entering, Evasion of Ministry Officials (Dementors on official business), and Murder. Or perhaps Committing Justice, in this case the two (Murder and Justice) seemed to lie in close contact with each other.

They made their way to Honeydukes Fine Confections, and after checking that the security at night was on the same laughable level as it was in the daytime, overcame the lock and quietly walked through the shop (acting with virtue they stole not one chocolate frog or slice of candied fruit) and down the secret tunnel that was hidden in the back room. Leo turned on his electric light and led the way. Sirius let him. Not only was his memory a bit rusty on the details of the tunnel after thirteen years, but his memory of several booby traps that were built in made him happy that "Phil" was in the lead to set them off. It was with a deep sadness that Sirius saw that whoever was using the tunnel these days had neglected to re-set the traps after themselves. Such neglect of the Art of the Prank was an insult to one of the Marauders. Still, it made their passage into the school that much quicker, if less amusing.

As they entered the dark and chilly corridor of the school Sirius cast a silence charm on their feet and took the lead. By the faint Lumos on his wand Sirius led the way up a steady staircase (at night even the stairs at Hogwarts took a break) and the occasional portrait of a sleeping notable wizard on the walls. Sirius was both a little annoyed, and a little impressed at Otto's pencil and notebook, which were floating in the air above their heads taking notes as they walked quickly to the entrance to the Gryffindor Tower. Sirius was preparing to blast his way through the empty picture frame that guarded the entrance when his companion touched him and shook his head. The younger man leaned forward and place his hands on the stone at either side of the frame and silently did whatever he did (Sirius was never able to quite figure it out) to open a magically locked entrance.

After a minute Sirius began to get worried, Otto's face was covered in sweat, and a thin trickle of blood was coming from the corner of his mouth. Suddenly Otto pushed with all of his braced body, and gave a small grunt. There was a slight "click" from the picture, and it popped open just a hair. Otto was plainly exhausted, and went to sit in a seat in a niche near the door. Sirius whispered that he would go in alone and do the search (and grab), while Otto caught his breath. The kid might be deficient in a sense of humor, and way too industrious, but anyone who could defeat the spell keeping the Tower door locked at night deserved some consideration. Sirius and his fellow Marauders had tried several times to sneak in after hours by that method, and never made it. Leaving Otto with a Pepper Up Potion Sirius went in to the Tower, taking it slow (after all those years in Azkaban he wasn't going to blow it by rushing in with mad screams and giggles) and certain.

As Leo caught his breath and recovered he debated downing some aspirin with the Pepper Up Potion, he then saw a pale and ghostly ball coming down the corridor toward him. After a few seconds he realized it was a head of blond hair above a dark set of robes. He wondered if he would have to silence the approaching person. He hoped not, as it came closer it was obvious that the visitor was, 1-female, 2-young, 3-cute. All of these were things that were inhibitors to going violent for Leo. So another way to handle things would have to be tried. As she came close enough to see him, he moved over a little to the side, and patted the stone slab next to him in a friendly but commanding manner. Or at least he hoped so.

Luna was a little startled when a sudden motion from the seat near the Gryffindor Tower caught her attention. As she took another step closer she added fear to her current emotions. There was a young vampire sitting there (she could tell, there was blood on his face) gesturing her to come closer and provide… Well, on further consideration he probably wasn't summoning her to be a snack. The blood must mean that he'd already fed, so unless he was looking for dessert she should be safe. After all, this was a rare opportunity to interview a magical creature, one that not many second years had ever had. As a scholar and journalist it was her duty to take that seat. And afterward she could continue to locate the things her roommates had hidden from her, shoes, books and the like. He said "Hello" in a funny accent, but she didn't feel a bit of will-sapping glamour making her his puppet, walking picnic basket and love slave. All slightly disappointing, that.

Leo decided to start the conversation on the right track: "Hello, take a seat please. It's such a pleasant night for a stroll that I see you couldn't resist it either."

Deciding that politeness was the order of the night she replied, as she tucked her cold feet up under herself she replied: "Hello to you too. Are you a visitor here, or are you another one of the official Hogwarts monsters and dangers that aren't in the brochure?"

"You don't know me well enough to call me a monster. Only close friends and family are in on that! Do you think I'd merit being in the official literature? I'm not sure that I'd be a selling point for parents thinking about sending their children to the premier magical school in Britain."

Luna decided to help him out there: "Always wipe the blood away after you have a hellish feast, otherwise you won't be able to keep your poor, romantic, damned state from anyone. You have blood coming out from the corner of your mouth. No, the other corner. I don't think you should allow them to use your photo though, that mustache simply isn't impressive. You'd regret it forever if that image was the one that you left for posterity"

At the girl's information Leo reached up to his face, the wrong side at first (as we always do), and feeling the blood took out his handkerchief and wiped it away. "Actually, I just bit the inside of my cheek, sorry to disappoint you. I get so much hassle about this mustache, nobody sees its beauty!"

"So you're not a Middle European aristocrat turned into a creature of the night, with a tragic story of doomed love and tragic redemption?

"Not nearly enough love, and not a hint of redemption in sight. Just an unofficial person doing his irregular business. And you?"

"An official student on _her _unofficial business." Realizing that a bit more information would be polite she continued: "My dorm mates hide my things, but I'm honing my powers of observation and rounding them up every night. As a future discoverer of hidden truths and secret marvels I consider their little teasing ways as mere aids to training my skills." At that point she gave a little "Eep!" when the man she hadn't noticed coming out of the Gryffindor Tower touched her on the shoulder.

At Leo's inquiring glance Sirius shook his head. "Not a sign of the Rat. The boy woke up, had to Stupefy him. We'll have to use the Peter Compass, and hope to round him up before daylight. You may be right; leaving his body in the Main Hall may not be the best way. Would probably put people off their breakfasts. Not fair to the kids. Would give them a hell of a story to write home, though."

Noticing Luna's slight shiver Sirius quickly cast a warming charm on her. She smiled in gratitude. They might not be vampires, they might be unofficial people on irregular business, they might be violent maniacs, but they were also nice people.

"It would probably be better if you went back to your dorm now, and I _really _would appreciate it if you don't volunteer anything about meeting us tonight. Don't get in trouble or anything, but _please." _Leo finished, giving his best version of Puppy Dog Eyes. Luna giggled, and nodded her head. After all, a journalist had to protect and cultivate her sources, and there was certainly some big story in the making tonight.

Sirius would have liked to Stupefy her, and stash her somewhere warm and out of the way. But she had giggled, and he was too much a gentleman to curse someone after that. She had been going back toward the Ravenclaw area, perhaps it was just best to carry on.

As they followed the compass, having to backtrack occasionally, as it only indicated direction and not level, Leo repeated his proposal that Sirius turn Peter in to the Authorities (in some well prepared media event) instead of just wringing his neck. Even if people made the connection between Peter Pettigrew being alive twelve years after his official death and the impossibility of Sirius Black killing him in 1981, the fact that Peter Pettigrew had been killed in 1993, four months after Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban would probably lead to gossip. And everyone knew how nasty that could get!

Sirius nodded vaguely as they walked. After he had stunned the Weasley boy (definitely one of Arthur's kids) he had checked the other beds, and in the one nearest the window had seen Harry. Sirius knew that the only chance he'd have to fulfill his obligations to James and Lilly and protect Harry would be to give up the joy of seeing Peter bleed and die. There was no certainty that turning Peter in would work out, it was just the only way Sirius could see that led to better than a short life on the run, and a betrayal of his godson. But the thought of being Padfoot and snapping Wormtail's head off with his jaws was so tempting!

At last they found a tapestry on a wall near the kitchens that had the compass needle point to it, no matter how they orientated themselves. Sirius proposed setting it on fire, getting a disgusted look from Leo. Leo closed his eyes and tried pushing his Sie through the weaving to where Pettigrew was (probably) waiting. When that didn't work he imagined a curving tunnel of touch, going behind the tapestry from the side and feeling its way down the wall. There! In a crack in the wall, about six inches deep there was a warm thing with a rapidly beating heart. Leo reached out with Teek and grabbed it firmly, pulling it out as it tried to grab the stones, and then the fabric. The strength of a rat wasn't nearly enough. Wriggling and squirming in an unseen grip the rat was pulled before them. The compass needle kept its steady bead on the rodent. "Hello, Peter." Sirius said. The rat suddenly stopped struggling.

Someone unused to seeing a man turn into a large dog would probably have been shocked immobile to see a rat suspended in mid-air turn into a man, and hit the ground running. The sudden change in weight had broken Leo's Teek hold; he dove at the transformed animal, just in time to catch most of Sirius's Stupefy. At which point he lapsed into unconsciousness, hitting the ground rather roughly.

Peter caught only the fringe of the spell, but it was enough to make him misstep and crash into the wall. Before he could get his feet back in motion Sirius got him with an Immobulus, freezing him in place. Then a simple Stupefy, a Full Body-Bind Curse, and another Stupefy to top things off. He used Rennervate to revive Otto, and helped him to his feet. The poor man's face was bleeding from several scrapes and a bloody nose. A few uses of Episkey and all was right with the world, at least until Sirius felt his wand surge out of his hand and a voice coming from a source three feet from the ground inquired: "Who are you, and who have you bundled up so thoroughly?"


	15. Chapter 15

I do not own, or profit from, the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 15-Exeunt, pursued by Bear.

Leo's eyes tracked to where the voice had come from. Standing there, with complete confidence was a man a trifle above three feet in height, holding a wand, and with the balance Leo knew was the result of years of fighting experience.

"P... Professor Flitwick," Sirius stuttered out.

"I see my fame precedes me. Yes, Filius Flitwick, a humble professor here at Hogwarts, and now that that formality has been taken care of I must request that my question be answered. Who are you, and who is your captive, and if I may be allowed a little more curiosity, why is he your captive?"

Seeing Sirius in a serious brain freeze Leo decided to inject himself into the equation again. "Well, sir, I'm Phil Corvus, Panoramic Photographer, and a great admirer of the local architecture. My immobilized companion is the widely famous Peter Pettigrew, spurious hero of the Wizarding world and secret Rat Animagus. What! You didn't know that he was faking his death all those years ago? Certainly the reasons why are something a teacher, ever on the hunt for knowledge, would like to learn about!"

At this point the bald man in the corridor spoke: "I am Sirius Black, who did not betray James Potter, kill twelve Muggles or the man I thought was my friend, Peter Pettigrew, or join the Death Eaters. I think we should contact the proper authorities, hopefully not including the Dementors, and correct some misconceptions."

Leo was glad that Sirius had made up his mind, being so bright and bubbly while someone held an active weapon on him was a strain on his nerves. He so wanted to just go and _hit_ something.

"Your wand, sir," Flitwick said. The story was promising to be an interesting one, but that was no reason to neglect the elementary precautions. Leo slowly pulled it out and gently rolled it to the professor, who picked it up. "To the Headmaster's Quarters; to the right, up the stairs, and then to the left. Stop at the Gargoyle."

Sirius had mentioned some of his teachers, and the name Flitwick and the comment "professional duelist" had stuck in Leo's mind. It sounded a bit like "professional gunfighter", certainly not someone to try to get cute with. Leo decided that if there was going to be any violence it would have to be all out, half measures would only get them in trouble. Killing a person doing their job, doing it properly, was not what he wanted to do. Perhaps if he were to grab the professor, turn him around with a firm grip and then block his air passages… At which point it all became moot, as a tall man in a kaleidoscope robe came striding down the corridor surrounded by a nimbus of light. A wand was in his hand, and a rather grim look on his face.

"Ah, Albus! Just the man we were coming to see! Letting yourself off from the night time patrols means you've missed so much of the fun! Here are, if they are to be believed, a photographic artist, a vile murderer and Sirius Black."

Sirius rather liked the way Hogwarts' shortest (but certainly not least respected) teacher had phrased that. If only it had been: "Here's Sirius Black, who's captured the traitor we should start killing" it would all have been perfect.

"But Black is guilty, he was sent to Azkaban, the Dementors even now prowl outside Hogwarts waiting to Kiss him. We must… no, we can't invite them in. They have this tendency to go to Harry after all. We should just push Black and his friend out the front gate and let the Dementors know their duty can be finished here. Filius, you know how dangerous it has been having those creatures here, near the children, we should do anything we can to send them away."

In Leo's biased opinion, this was not the way the greatest leader of the Light should react on having news brought to him. It sounded more like a man flustered that his plans were hitting a roadblock and wanted to edit the problems out of existence. Evidently Flitwick was a bit startled too, he interrupted the Headmaster's argument: "Albus, we must inform the Aurors, the Ministry… The Dementors will leave as soon as this is straightened out."

Dumbledore's face took on the look of a man who had made his decision, and it was a sad one. He lifted his wand saying : "Filius, old friend…" when a stern faced late middle aged (for a witch) woman appeared in a rush shouting out: "Headmaster, I've been looking all over for you. Someone has broken into the Tower and… Oh I see you have got the situation under control, as usual."

Dumbledore amended his intent, and completed his sentence, "You are quite right, to my study, the Ministry must be informed." He led the way back to his office, McGonagall (the lady who had discovered the penetration of the Gryffindor Tower) following him, then the floating body of Pettigrew, then the two prisoners, then Flitwick. Behind Flitwick, on quiet feet (she had found some of her socks, at least now her feet wouldn't be so cold) unseen, carrying a recovered textbook followed Luna Lovegood, Ace Reporter. When the little caravan reached the Headmaster's Office she was able to stick the textbook into the door frame quickly enough so that the door stayed open a crack. She lay down head first on the stairs and prepared to get the full story, the Scoop!

Leo and Sirius were motioned to stand against the wall, Peter's body floated gently in midair, McGonagall standing near the desk talking with Dumbledore, and Flitwick bouncing over to the huge Headmaster's Desk and put down the captured wands on them, then bounced over to the fireplace and tossing a pinch of Floo powder into it and calling out "Aurors' Headquarters, send a team, you're needed at Hogwarts," before Dumbledore could lift a restraining hand.

"We must have a coordinated rendering of events ready for when the Aurors show up," Albus began, only to lose track of his argument when a half dozen of the silvery and mysterious instruments that covered his desk somehow slid off of it and fell to the floor with a cheerful jingling sound. By the time they had been returned to their proper place, a task made more difficult by all the helpful hands, a team of four men in crumpled robes charged out of the fireplace with wands drawn. The first in, and the one the others looked to for orders, was a tall, shaven headed black man.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt, Auror 1st class, Aurors McNair, Wilson, Tompkins. We're the Rapid Reaction Team. We can send for backup if needed. What is the situation, are the children in danger, do you need us to alert St. Mungos?"

Dumbledore started to take charge of the situation: "As always a pleasure, Auror Shacklebolt. I'm sure you know Professors McGonagall and Flitwick. The people standing over by that wall are claiming to be Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew and Philcurvis. They are all intruders to Hogwarts and I'd be most happy for you to apply the standing Ministry orders in relation to an invasion of our schoolboy-"

At that point Leo decided the possibility of being automatically left outside for soul-eaters to enjoy was being put back in play, and figured that a moving target was harder to hit. Putting his friendliest smile (the one people found so disturbing) on he pushed out his empty right hand and walked briskly up to Shacklebolt. Seven wands came up and covered him as he said, "Phil Corvus is the name, Panoramic Photographer by trade, happy to make your acquaintance. My card is in my inner pocket; let me hand it, slowly, to you." He followed his words with a glacial motion, knowing that if he screwed this up he was in for another bout of kissing the stone floor at best. After taking the card out he placed it slowly on the desk, then backed away. What he hoped no one noticed is that he was actually backing away at an angle, ending up against the same wall as before, but far nearer to the door. He now noticed it was open a crack, and it was well within range of his Sie. On the other side was… someone lying down and writing something in a notebook. Interesting.

Sirius was somewhat confused, less from the rapidly increasing number of people involved than with how Dumbledore wasn't acting like… Dumbledore. Or at least as he remembered him. That his memories of the Headmaster were those, basically, of a hero worshipping student, rather than an older and far more cynical survivor of the hardest prison time known hadn't dawned on him yet. In any case he felt that Otto had broken the ice, and also showed the way to handle things. "I am in fact Sirius Black, and though I'm in no position to demand anything, before you send me out to be Kissed I request an immediate questioning under Veritaserum. At least then the truth about James' and Lilly's death will come out, and little Peter over there," gesturing at the still floating Pettigrew, "will get what he's got coming to him."

Shacklebolt could see that Dumbledore wanted to take charge of the investigation, but as leader of the Rapid Reaction Team he couldn't let a civilian, even Dumbledore, the Chief Warlock, take over, not right in front of his team. Accordingly he said: "Headmaster, as you are, officially, a Justice of the Wizengamot you may, and I request you do, authorize an emergency interrogation under Veritaserum. Do you agree that the people being held here shall be so questioned?"

"A good idea, Auror. Alas, we here at our quiet school have no stock of the truth potion on hand." Dumbledore replied.

"No problems there, Tompkins just nip back to the Headquarters and grab the portable kit." Shacklebolt instructed the junior member of the squad.

Dumbledore seemed a bit set back by the speed everything was moving at as Tompkins used the Floo to go back and forth from Auror Headquarters in the Ministry of Magic building in London in less than two minutes. Sometimes even the greatest of magicians forget the potency of the magic available.

Shacklebolt could see that Dumbledore wasn't operating at his best, poor man probably wasn't up to speed, being woken up so early in the morning at his age! That confirmed the decision of the Auror 1st class to make sure that everything was kept under his control and done by the book. He didn't want Dumbledore to mess something up due to his fatigue, and make himself look foolish.

Sirius sat down in a chair surrounded by lights while the dictation taking quills were set up over the unforgeable parchment used to take down testimony. Everyone (save one) was looking at his face intently, looking to see if he was going to try to resist taking the potion. The way that he took it, bitter taste and all, with a smile surprised them. As they waited for it to take effect Shacklebolt jotted down a few questions he wanted to make sure of asking in his notebook. Then as Sirius's face became a little blank the questions began. No one noticed that one of the wands on the Headmaster's desk slowly rolling off, and then slowly floating its way onto the logs burning in the fireplace.

"What is your name."

"Sirius Black."

"Are you an escapee from Azkaban?"

"The only bloody one, best prank on that arse Fudge ever. James and Remus would be proud of me. What that little…"

Shacklebolt took the questioning back to the main point: "Are you, or have you ever been a Death Eater?"

"Never be one of those bastards. They destroyed my brother, stole my family."

The questions continued for another twenty minutes, each one revealing a little more that the charges against Sirius Black were false. They also revealed that Julia Rosmerta was everything he had ever dreamed about, that he had wanted to kill Pettigrew, but had decided to turn him in to justice before being caught, that he had been helped by Otto Hahn and the Men from Cathay, and that centaurs were utterly rude arseholes. He talked a _lot_.

After the potion was flushed through his system Sirius was taken out of the chair and Peter put in it and woken up. He attempted to make his escape by transformation, but a prepared array of powerful wizards and a witch expert in the Animagus skill put him, very shook up, back in the chair in an instant. As he was spelled not to transform or leave the chair, and forced to drink the potion no one noticed the young man, who had been standing quietly in shadows ever since leaving his card on the desk, slowly edge his way to the unlocked door, open it wider, and slip out while returning it to its previous status.

Carefully stepping over Luna Lovegood (Ace Reporter) he took a moment to turn and stoop down and whisper: "Are you all right?"

"I'll interview you later, Mr. Corvus. Right now this reporter for the _Quibbler, the_ news outlet of record for those that don't believe in that rag, the _Daily Prophet,_ is busy doing research." She would have shown him her press credentials, but they were in her daytime clothes, and right now she only had on her nightgown, robe, and of course, her socks.

Leo took a small, disposable camera out of a pocket of his robe and laid it down next to her. Telling her to use a strong light spell when pushing down the button on top, and to get the film developed by a Muggle method he got up, then went down next to her ear and whispered to her again: "I'd get your story out of here and printed up before the forces of censorship clamp down on the rights of the Press, and stop all communication out." Then he got up again and carefully retraced his way to the secret tunnel leading to Honeydukes. He had to hide for a few moments when a group of students went by him, heading toward the Headmaster's office.

Once in the tunnel he was off at a steady jog to the end, up the trapdoor (and careful to close it), out of the store and to the Inn, up to his room, grabbing the things he wanted to escape with, then going down to the kitchen to grab some traveling food and drink. Passing through the bar area on his way out he left money in an envelope for his stay, and quietly began to trot down the pathway that led to the Forbidden Forest. About a half mile inside, after having done his best to make sure he wasn't followed, he took out the magic detector and ran it over himself. Besides a reading showing that the necklace with the Hydra teeth was magical (and he'd known that since he had first started playing with the detector) there was a spot on his robe that showed magic that hadn't been there yesterday. He bundled it up and taking a compass reading headed deeper into the Forest. It was at least twenty miles across, but there were Normal villages on the other side, and routes going East, North and West. Never try to evade pursuit by going up a road with only one outlet he had been told.

Two miles further in his light shone on a spider web. The threads as thick as twine and the whole thing a good fifteen feet across. Making sure of his escape path he tossed his wizard's robe into it, jiggled it with Teek until the huge owner came down to subdue whatever it had caught, and sprinted away. It was still hours to go until dawn, and he had miles to go before he'd sleep.

An hour and a half earlier, back at Hogwarts, a different confrontation had taken place.

Harry, Ron and Hermione approached the Headmaster's office moving at a brisk clip. Professor McGonagall had promised to report back to them as soon as she had informed the Headmaster of the intrusion into the dorms. It had been too long, there was obviously something more going on, and they weren't about to just sit there, waiting in the Common Room for some madman to have another go at Ron. They were just about to go up the stairs to the door when Hermione grabbed both boys, just before they trampled a dark cloaked figure lying prone on the steps. She had noticed the pink (with white bunny figures) socks even in the dim light. The noise they made jostling against each other in their awkward stop alerted Luna Lovegood (Ace Reporter), and as graceful as a mongoose she twisted around on her belly to see who had crept up on her. As an observant Ravenclaw she had no trouble identifying the intruders. Before they had a chance to break up her stakeout she gave them a strong "Shhhh."

She got to her feet, grabbed the three and lined them up against a wall while they tried to protest, quietly. Stepping back eight or so feet she brought up her hand, something filling it, and said "Lumos!" They were temporarily blinded. Having gotten her photo she picked up her notebook and started the interview: "Harry Potter, how do you feel about the startling revelations going on this very minute in the Headmaster's Office? Do you have a comment for the Press? Miss Granger, do you wish to help your tongue-tied friend? Ronald, how are you?" Trying to deal with three subjects at once was proving a bit of a strain for Luna. She didn't want to leave anyone out and hurt their feelings, but she knew that she didn't have much time before things would get out of control. And of course, she did know Ronald socially, she couldn't easily treat Ginny's big brother like a stranger.

"She's Loony Lovegood," Ron burst out, "She lives near us in Ottery. She and Ginny used to play together sometimes. Don't let her get started, she was raving then and I hear she's worse now."

"That wasn't nice, Ronald. After all you were my first crush." A concerned look crossed her face. Being nearer to the door she had heard the beginnings of a commotion in the office behind them. Tearing her notes out of her book she rolled them together and on the outside wrote: "Emergency dispatch from Hogwarts, publish fast!"

Grabbing Ron she shoved the papers into his hand and told him, "Run to the Owlery and send this dispatch off immediately Ronald, to the Quibbler office drop!"

"Why should I do anything for you, Lovegood?"

"Purple Persimmon Preserves." Ron was off like a shot, the roll of papers secure in his hands.

Hermione casually commented, "Persimmon preserves are not purple." To which Luna replied: "Exactly."

Perplexed by the exchange Harry made a break for the Headmaster's door, and before any effective protest could be made he opened it, and stepped in to a scene of considerable confusion. Shrugging their shoulders the two girls followed him. Hermione putting on her game face, while Luna returned to the role of hardboiled reporter, and went in with pencil and notebook in hand.

Harry stared as four men in Auror's robes, two of the heads of Houses, and the Headmaster himself scurried around looking behind tapestries, under cabinets and desks, and went wildly back and forth through the doors that evidently went to the Headmaster's Private Parlor, the Headmaster's Private Bedroom, and the Headmaster's Private Bathroom. There were two exceptions to this energetic turmoil. One was a balding little man, wrapped in ropes, somehow sleeping through it all in a chair surrounded by candle sticks; the other was a tall and completely bald fellow sitting on the Headmaster's Desk with a slight smile on his face. On noticing the room's increase in population his smile grew broader and waved them forward.

He knew Harry, of course. The boy had been sleeping in the bed next to the battered chest with the Potter crest on it, and the initials HP (for Harold Potter, Harry's grandfather) that he had seen James using for the seven years they had been rooming together. That Harry had come in accompanied by two attractive young witches, Luna Lovegood and another cutey, made his heart swell; when one is in love, they love a lover. And Sirius's Marauder instincts were amused that Harry was able to handle two at once. Sirius was in a good mood in any case. He knew his story had gone over well, Peter had, no matter how he had tried to evade the truth, talked himself into a Dementor's embrace, and Otto had pulled a beautiful disappearing act that had all the authority figures in sight utterly confounded. From a place where you couldn't use Apparition, Portkey, or leave by the door without the Headmaster's permission once it was closed there weren't too many ways to do that trick.

Finally Dumbledore stood still, then waved his wand and cried out: "Ah, the answer! Check the fireplace gentlemen, oh and Minerva too, and you will see that the tracking spell I thought to place on Mr. Corvus's wand has left a trace at the Floo. We foolishly forgot to turn it off, and the cunning young fellow must have slipped out that way!" Noticing the new intruders he continued: "Harry, Miss Granger, and Miss Lovegood, what brings you to us at this time of night? While my office is, of course, always open to my students should you not be snug in your beds in your respective Houses?"

"Didn't I tell you to wait in the Common Room?" McGonagall put in, followed by "And where is Mr. Weasley?

Harry felt that Luna had not been merely arbitrary on sending out her report on the rush, by Ron and owl express. He had been getting a little annoyed for some time at all the important things going on that no one ever found out about until it was too late to do anything constructive. Lately he had started to cover for any student (well, except for Malfoy) who might be coming under any teacher scrutiny. From the way Lovegood had been acting something big was going on, and he thought it was time that things getting hidden and covered up ended. So he just said, "Ron had an important food related task to finish, I expect him here in a few moments, Professor." After all, any mention of food and Ron in the same sentence was always reasonable.

Sirius felt that he had been quiet too long. Things were settling down, get almost dull again. In any case it was only polite to introduce himself. Getting up and walking over to the students he stuck out his hand to Harry and said: "Hello there cub, I'm Sirius Black, yo-"

Before he could finish the sentence Harry and Hermione had jumped ten feet backwards to get their backs against the wall, and had their wands out, ready to sell their lives dearly. Luna, knowing a good bit more about what was going on grabbed his hand and introduced herself: "Hello Mr. Black, I'm Luna Lovegood, special education correspondent for the internationally acclaimed periodical, _The_ _Quibbler. _ First, how do you feel your efforts to get vindication have been handled so far?"

Sirius, declaiming in the style of pompous official announcements rolled out: "The Rapid Reaction Team, so ably led by Auror 1st class Shacklebolt, has been swift, polite and efficient in getting to the bottom of matters as soon as the truth was revealed to them. I have nothing but praise for the way they have handled a difficult and fast moving situation. I also must admit to particular admiration of Professor Flitwick's dutiful patrolling of Hogwarts by night, and his effective efforts to provide for the security of its students."

"How do you account for this information exonerating you not coming out at your trial?"

"There never was a trial." At this all motion in the room came to a halt. While many questions had been asked while Sirius was under the potion one little question had seemed to be so obvious it had never been asked, why Black's trial had been botched. "I was in Azkaban within three hours of being picked up, no Veritaserum, no Legillimency, and no forensic work worth a damn except picking up some spare body parts. No legal counsel, no formal charges. Just Azkaban."

"That isn't done!" Wilson protested.

"Then show me the lies they said I testified to, and I'll deny them under potion, here and now."

At Shacklebolt's nod Wilson Flooed out to Auror Headquarters. While many things in the Wizarding World were a bit untidy, magic had no trouble pulling up police files when you were in the actual HQ of the Auror Corps.

While they were waiting for Wilson's return Sirius tried to start a little small talk with Harry. Under the circumstances it wasn't unexpected that the effort didn't do so well. Giving it up as something for another day Sirius went back to being interviewed by Luna.

The interview wrapped up as Wilson returned with a file for Shacklebolt. As he was reading it the Headmaster plucked the notebook from Luna's hands, then went to his desk and manipulated several of the mechanisms there. With a contented nod Dumbledore informed the student/reporter that the dissemination of news of such political importance must, of course, be controlled by older and wiser heads than hers, for the pursuit of the Greater Good. Accordingly there could be no communication out from Hogwarts except through the Floo in this room, until all aspects of the situation could be considered. The gates were locked, the owls were grounded, and all other floos were blocked. Harry nodded at that, he had expected something along those lines. The Greater Good was starting to become a major pain in the arse.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had a headache, two actually. One was dealing with the obvious fact that any competent Auror reading Black's file would see from what was said, and what was unsaid, that there had never been an even halfway decent investigation or any proper handling of the case at any level. To deal with that he needed a large mug of strong coffee laced with a good shot of Firewhiskey. At least Black was apparently not throwing a hissy fit, showing immense character. The headache that he needed a good two straight shots of Firewhiskey for was the greatest wizard in Britain. He was the chief of the highest Wizarding court in Magical Britain, and he was ignoring that not only had a major miscarriage of justice (always a secondary consideration, after all, in the legal system) taken place, but that the forms had not been followed. That was a far more serious offense politically. Instead of seizing the moment and leading, he was trying to hide everything under his multi-color robes. It just wouldn't work.

Aside from that sealing off Hogwarts, especially after the problems last year, especially with the place surrounded by Dementors, would undoubtedly panic seventy percent of the most powerful magical families in Britain. Of course, maybe that was what Dumbledore was after. He had never been in favor of the Dementors being here anyway, what person in their right mind would? This could be his ploy to get them removed, give the Ministry a good scare. Of course, with Black, either innocent or guilty, in custody they would be pulled anyway. So what was Dumbledore after? In any case, this was all way above his pay grade. Time to get Scrimgeour and Bones involved.

After Wilson had been sent on that important task, as junior man it was naturally his job to be the one to wake up his superiors at three thirty in the morning and have them rush to a crisis which had the potential of becoming a disaster. While he was waiting Shacklebolt gently waved off Dumbledore's subtle, almost subliminal, suggestion that he, for the good of the children, do a slight job of memory removal on them so that the whole distressing affair wouldn't blight their lives. All this was a new and interesting side of the Chief Warlock that Shacklebolt had never seen, and one that he would keep in mind in the future.

It took almost an hour for the big brass to show up; by that time the children were obviously wilting and were curled up together in a clump against a wall. Pettigrew had recovered and was acting so pitiful that someone put a silence spell on him. Weasley had been discovered in the Kitchens, recovering from his ordeal over a cup of cocoa and some muffins. Corvus was still missing, he must have jiggered the Floo system enough not to end up at Auror HQ. At least he wasn't up for anything but a little unlawful trespass, it would have been nice to talk to him, but he didn't really matter in regard to the main problem.

When the top law enforcement officials of Britain arrived they came with an added… benefit? Cornelius Fudge himself, Minister for Magic came with them, looking suspiciously as if it was more a late night than an early morning for him. He brought decision with him though. Black to the Dementors, Obliviate the children, Obliviate the Aurors present, fake a trial record; call a press conference as soon as all of that was done.

By silent assent all the Auror's pushed Bones to the front. It was immoral, it was obscene, it was impractical (by now every Auror not on holiday overseas had a good idea of what was going on), it would be too easy to be caught, why not? The miscarriage of justice hadn't happened under a Fudge administration anyway.

The last was perhaps the most telling point. The dirt would all end up on someone else. He could be the angel of justice, and get reams of good press while slandering political rivals. He had just issued the order for the Dementors to ignore Black and return to Azkaban when an Auror flooed in with a special tabloid edition of _The Quibbler_ with the front page one large headline:

**Sirius Black Innocent,**

**Pettigrew Did It**

**And He Got Caught!!!**

Story on page 2

Cornelius Fudge smiled as he ruffled the hair on the heads of the little children going to breakfast. He had once again dodged a disaster; the records would show he had been protecting the innocent _before_ there had been media attention on him.

Harry Potter found the operations of real life politics informative, but not shocking. He suspected he had a lot more innocence to lose; it was only the Headmaster's part in all this that was disappointing. He looked forward to meeting the innocent Mr. Black.

Hermione Granger _was_ shocked and outraged. Important people were supposed to be respectable and nice. The Headmaster was supposed to protect them! Hermione suffered from sharp eyes and keen ears, she had seen and heard _everything _that had gone on after they had entered the office.

Luna Lovegood spent all morning, skipping food and ignoring the teachers during her classes, reconstructing her confiscated notes, and detailing what had come after. Not for an article, she felt there was enough going on that there was a possible blockbuster book in her future. She'd also have to thank Ronald for being so prompt getting the owl out last night. A journalist's work is never done!

Ronald Weasley ate a hearty breakfast. He was, after all, a growing boy.


	16. Chapter 16

I do not own, or profit in any way, from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 16-And some of them lived happily…for a bit.

Of course Albus Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards of the last few centuries, knew that a tracking spell that went through a Floo didn't leave any particular trace. The wand must have been burnt up in the fire, leaving the spell without a proper physical matrix to cling to. It would quickly dissipate and disappear in a few hours. This Corvus fellow was double tricky; who he was working for was important. Was he another agent of these Men from Cathay Sirius had been talking about while under the potion? He had never heard of them before, but as one who had grown up when the newspapers and magazines were full of reports and warnings about the "Yellow Peril" he was quite prepared to believe that at long last they were making their move on the West. With his superior magic, and the natural advantage he had being British they could certainly be brought to heel if they were dangerous, and crushed if they proved unreliable. Thank Merlin he had thought to put a second tracking spell on the lad.

It never occurred to Dumbledore to ponder on why the wand was destroyed in the first place, of why a wizard would rid himself of his most potent tool and weapon. That Leo had destroyed it so that it couldn't be tested and proved to be a dummy, and so show that he wasn't in fact a wizard at all was something that was really further from Dumbledore's world view than the Men from Cathay were. After all, how could anyone who wasn't a wizard escape from Hogwarts, Aurors, himself, and a vast number of Dementors?

Of course Kingsley Shacklebolt, a skilled and experienced Auror, knew that a tracking spell that went through a Floo didn't leave any particular trace. Though when he had checked there was a trace of a spell that had been detectable. How was a good question, why another. Why was one of the greatest wizards of the last few centuries, the ever twinkling-eyed benign autocrat of Hogwarts, so ready to push people's buttons? It had seemed Dumbledore had almost been eager for Black's story to be suppressed. He had only put the school in lockdown _after _Corvus had already flown the coop. In fact if it hadn't been for Amelia appealing to Fudge's political instincts things would have turned from awkward to disastrous. Shacklebolt realized he hadn't had much to do with Dumbledore since his student days; he would have to remedy that. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, and all that. Which pile Dumbledore would end up in wasn't really sure at the moment.

Hermione Granger, perhaps the cleverest witch of her generation, had found the previous night confusing. Why did Black attack Ron? Why had the Headmaster been urging the Aurors to do memory charms on students (including herself) when they had done nothing wrong? Ron had been Luna's first crush?

Luna Lovegood, who was more things during a day than most people were in a lifetime, was currently thinking very adolescent thoughts. When she had gone out last night it had only been to recover her things that had been hidden. She had met two men in mysterious and romantic circumstances, in fact one was currently on the run from the Aurors. Neither one had been at all improper, even though she couldn't possibly have resisted them or called for help in the dark and empty corridors. Didn't she have any sex appeal at all? She knew that she hadn't filled in a lot yet on top, but surely she must have something boys would be interested in?

Ron Weasley was dead tired. After an early morning which included being startled awake, Stupefied, woken again, going to the Headmaster's quarters, running to send out an owl, back to the Headmaster's, finding that closed, hotfooting it to the kitchens so that he would have an alibi (and hopefully concealing that he had done an errand for Loony), and now he had a full morning of classes to go to. He just hoped that he could stay awake long enough today for someone to tell him what the hell had been going on last night.

Remus Lupin had just heard that Sirius had been found in Hogwarts last night, and had gone to the Ministry as a guest, not a prisoner. He wished someone would tell him what the hell had been going on last night.

Severus Snape had heard over breakfast that Black had been found in Hogwarts last night, and taken to the Ministry. The Dementors had all cleared out of the area. He had had a fine night's rest , no nightmares at all. The news this morning could only have been improved if he had had it confirmed that Black had already been Kissed. If he didn't have an image to uphold Severus Snape would have been skipping his way to the Potions classroom.

Harry Potter was dead tired and very bemused. Dumbledore was still hiding things from him. He no longer accepted that ignorance of what was going on would make him a happy and care-free child. It was much too late for that. He no longer had any illusions that Hogwarts was "the safest place in Britain." It was much too late for that. Black had been asked to go to the Ministry, and had had his wand returned to him. The man who was his godfather would be in touch soon, they would have much to say to each other. The Headmaster had told him that Black's stay in Azkaban had "unhinged" him, well the man had certainly acted properly hinged last night. Harry guessed that Dumbledore was doing something called "poisoning the well" of confidence. Harry had read some spy novels over last summer. They had a lot of interesting stuff in them. He would really have to talk things over with Ron and Hermione tonight.

Leo Green rested, up in a tree. He would wake up and continue his escape in the afternoon. There were monsters here in the forest. Some of them already knew enough not to bother him. Some others would learn, soon.


	17. Chapter 17

I do not own or profit in any way from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 17-Home again, home again, jiggity jig.

It was refreshing to be Leo Green again. In the Forest there was no one to make a mistake in front of, and blow his cover story. If he did make a bad enough mistake he would merely die, a less distressing outcome. Leo was extremely mission orientated. It worried those who cared about him. It was just that for the last few years he hadn't been among them. He was still influenced by his fears, but dying wasn't one of them.

After he climbed down from the tree he had spent the night in he checked himself again for any magic. Except for the hydra teeth he had on a silver chain around his neck he was clean. Jeans, hiking boots, back pack, a camera case, waterproof jacket and all the other things a young man on a walking tour would naturally have, even a folding shovel strapped to the outside of the backpack to bury his "waste" when he had to sleep out for a night. The pistol and ammo in an inner pocket of his jacket was hidden, as well as a number of things in the outside flap pockets. He was just an ordinary backpacker, who was wandering around the Scottish Highlands before they became too cold to be a pleasure, who happened to have seven different ways to kill someone if he needed to.

Calming his mind down to a meditative state he established a light Teek barrier about eight feet to his rear, took a compass bearing, compared it to the direction of the sun, and set out at a jog. The Forest was old growth, the trees mostly huge with a lot of open space between them. In the occasional clearings creatures grazed: Unicorns, Thestrals, deer. Leo took pictures of the more interesting ones, and contemplated hunting the more mundane. He really wished he had thought to find some sort of field guide to the edible wild plants of the British Isles. He planned on getting to the Normal world within three days, taken food for four, but knew that travel was always capable of becoming an adventure: ie, an unplanned mess and detour.

Leo had seen animal skeletons well wrapped up in silk, discarded near giant webs. Accordingly he was careful to avoid going off of whatever animal track he was on at the moment into the brush that could be hiding webs. When his Teek barrier behind him was suddenly pierced he just dropped to the ground and rolled his body to the left, pulling out and deploying the shovel. It seemed for a second that the sun was blotted out as grizzly bear sized arachnid landed just in front of him, where he would have been if he hadn't stopped, dropped and rolled. Actually only the body was grizzly sized, add in the leg spread and you had an entirely bigger creature.

Even in the Forbidden Forest some of the laws of physics operated. When that much mass was moving that fast, and tried to turn around in mid-air when it realized it had missed its target, the lack of concentration and large momentum led to a very rough landing.

As its leg buckled under the strain, and it staggered upright from the missed strike Leo jumped to his feet, looked at the shovel, and realized he was in an entirely different weight class. Too big to do anything with direct Teek, it wouldn't even notice bullets from the Beretta, and the shovel would have needed one of the Three Musketeers wielding it to do anywhere near enough damage to matter. It didn't seem fair, somehow. He had thought that if a spider spun a web, that's where it would stay and let its food come to it. He dropped the shovel and his hands lunged into his pockets.

_ The spider, an Acromantula Gigantus to be precise, whirled around as fast as it could. With its leg span so much wider than the path the brush on either side threatened to trip it up. If it hadn't had support of at least seven firmly planted legs at a time it would have been in trouble. Its prey stood perhaps ten feet away, a short hop. It had one of those little wizard sticks in its hands, and bottle with one of those little wizard drinks. Those sticks and drinks were dangerous, no time for a conversation or calling for help (and the human was really only a meal-for-one anyway), so the best course of action was an immediate attack before anything magical could be done. It crouched and leapt._

Even though Leo was in no way a martial arts expert (he ranked himself just below Easily Beaten Thug #6 in a Jackie Chan film) he had no doubt that having eight or nine hundred pounds of spider landing on him would not be a Good Thing. He crouched as low as he could get and scurried under the creature, turning around as soon as he felt he was clear. He knew that sooner or later his use of the low road would be countered, probably sooner. It was time to take some direct action. He triggered the self launching flare in his right hand as he used Teek to open the bottle of Hot Sauce in his left. The flare shot out with great speed (MI5 didn't get second rate gear); burning with thousands of candlepower, and hit the spider, just to bounce off after singeing a small patch of its hair. Not a good start for an offensive. Still, things were still fluid, and he had resources not yet committed.

_ The spider had its prey figured out now. As long as the attack was at ground level it would catch its dinner. The flame spell it had shot had been painful, but had bounced off and was now lying burning on the ground. It was time to close the distance, bite and feast. Then the burning wand rose off of the ground and thrust itself into one of the Acromantula's eyes._

As he prepared to try to take out the spider's eyes one at a time Leo kept on trying to remember something that was special about spiders that he had read in his Biology class three or four years ago. Something about books, no, book lungs. Located behind the main torso on the underside. He sighed; this was going to be tricky.

_As the spider screamed from the pain of having a fire imbedded in its eye, with several of the others reflexively drawn to the object, it felt the weirdest feeling of being patted along its bottom surface. It would really have wanted to break off the hunt right about now, but its coordination was shot and it was getting close to the arachnid equivalent of shock. It tried to scream again, and felt even more pain from inside its body, and couldn't pull in any more air._

Leo pulled out several ounces of Hot Sauce from the bottle and Teeked them to where he had found the openings to the spider's lungs. Guarded by a simple flapped entry, currently in extreme open state due to the need to get enough breath to scream it wasn't too hard to find. It was a delicate operation, requiring two tries, to get some of the caustic spice mixture into the lungs. Once there it caused instant swelling and blistering, followed by massive bleeding. The thing took two staggering steps and collapsed. Its limbs started to twitch in random order. Whether or not it was dead, or going to die, it certainly wasn't a problem for now. Leo Teeked his shovel back in to his hand, it was on the far side of the creature and he wasn't taking any chances it had biting reflexes still in operation. Taking out the camera he snapped some pictures, trying to have various natural objects in view to give a sense of scale. Noticing a fluid leaking out of its fangs he emptied a mostly used bottle of butter beer he had gotten from the kitchen at the Three Broomsticks and scoured it out as best he could with Teek before getting some of the (probably) venom into it. Sealing the bottle he checked around the area, found nothing, made some notes of the event, and continued jogging north by northwest. It was his best estimate of the nearest boundary of the forest.

For miles around creatures heard the scream of an Acromantula in extreme, terminal agony. Some, centaurs and the like, nodded with satisfaction. Some, unthinking creatures, were disturbed and took more notice of their surroundings in reaction. Acromantulas that heard it knew what to do, though. They quickly cleared the area. Anything that could hurt one of them big enough to put out that much noise was something they didn't want to meet. Acromantula are not very family orientated.

That night, as Leo was roasting a rabbit he'd caught he tried to practice the Occlumency he'd been studying. He'd tried reading in the dark, using Teek to get a Braille effect, but he just didn't have that delicate a touch. So many things to do, to learn. So little time to do them in. When he got home he'd have so much class work to catch up on, even with the studying he'd been doing over here. To sooth his agitation he calculated about how much he had made on this mission. Days X overseas X danger. Something like $19,000 and all tax free of course. They might fiddle him down to $13,000, but he could live with that also.

The next morning, Albus Dumbledore stood next to the little bundle of tightly wrapped spider silk that was giving out the signal from his tracking charm. Poor Mr. Corvus, if only he hadn't gone off on his own he wouldn't have suffered this sad fate. Captured by one of the great web spinning spiders of the Forbidden Forest (the Acromantula colony, being rather recent had received much publicity, the fact that other types of giant creatures lived there was often forgotten), and drained of all his fluids until he was nothing more than a shriveled little mummy. The Headmaster decided to leave the capsule, the silken tomb, there in the woods. He felt a sense of ecological virtue in that, he would not disturb the cycle of life.

That peaceful feeling of virtue and the joy of having a loose end tied up sustained Dumbledore as he walked back to the castle. Young Mr. Black would be officially rehabilitated within the day, there was no getting around it now Dumbledore realized. It would lead to some complications with Harry's living arrangements, no doubt. At least he'd been able to let Harry know that innocent or not Black was a dangerously unstable person, and not to be listened to. It was, of course, _nice _that the innocent were freed, and the guilty in custody. Just things had been more under control before the awkward revelations had taken place the night before. And if everything wasn't kept under control, how could he get everyone into their proper places for the great events to come?

Three days later Leo Green came out of the Highlands Natural Preserve and Forest and hitched a ride from a passing motorist to a nearby town with a bus stop. He had a number of interesting specimens and pictures in his pack, and an enduring aversion to plants with mobile limbs. He wished Liz had been along, but just for the parts where there had been unicorns, she'd have loved them even as she would have pretended to have outgrown that sort of thing. Aaron would have loved all of it, of course.

There are those with the opinion that if you are an unofficial person and you want to move about you should haunt the terminals for various forms of mass transportation found in large cities. Being one among so many you are hidden, one blade of grass in a field. There are those who feel that train stations, bus terminals, and airports are where any searchers will congregate, not to mention the increasing number of surveillance cameras. Those folk would say move around the edges of society to avoid being noticed. Currently Leo was of the second school, as he had little choice in the matter. By local bus (cash bought tickets leaving no paper trail), short run ferries to scenic islands where he could blend in with other tourists, and finally a run across the Irish Sea he reached his goal. He had informed Quiller by a simple message to a one use phone number as soon as he had cleared the initial Forest area.

Now he was sitting on a bench in a small park in Limerick City while a trench coated man came over and identified himself with a code sentence. Satisfied that the man was actually Quiller (they all had heard about Polyjuice from Black), they went together to a safe and supposedly secure coffee place to get out of the drizzle and do a bit more catching up.

At the café they each used their talents to ensure proper privacy, and then briefed each other.

"Gold, you know you're dead of course. Or rather Corvus is, Black knows Hahn is still kicking, but the rest of the Funny hats are of the opinion the MFC are a hallucination of a broken man, and Corvus was just some foreign wizard with a… irregular relationship with Black."

"Rosmerta would be surprised at some of that. Here are a few specimens," he handed over a brown paper wrapped bundle to Quiller, "things I picked up in the Forest. I take it that Black is still a reliable source? And that you're sure that the raid on our staff last summer has been contained, and won't be repeated?"

"All running hot, straight and normal. I can understand you wanting to lay low for a while, and getting back home for the holidays also. Give Al my best regards. Plus, congratulations!"

"Why?"

"Didn't you know? Your parents have completed the arrangements, you're to be married."

"Damn."


	18. Chapter 18

I do not own, or receive any benefits from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 18-Sharper than a serpent's tooth.

Leo Green had just laid his suitcase on his bed, he didn't know if it was worthwhile to unpack. He had taken a taxi from the airport to AGER HQ, dropped off his report (he'd had plenty of time to work on it in transit) and specimens, and taken another taxi home. He hadn't really greeted his parents when he came in the house, just gone upstairs. There was a knock on his door, he reached out with Sie and knew who it was. He told them to come in. Liz came in, tanned and a little taller than he remembered her, Aaron stood behind her, picking off a bit of peeling skin.

"The folks want to see you downstairs. They have… " Her voice trailed off, with an unspoken question.

"Big news, a sign of my entry to adulthood. Chance to file joint tax returns?"

"You know, then."

"I must be hot stuff; the news crossed the ocean to British Intelligence before even I heard it." Bitter resentment filled his voice, a tone he never allowed anyone outside of the family to hear.

"That's just because Mr. Fermi is such a big pal of the British branch head guy, they're always gossiping back and forth."

"Oh, good. I think that I'll give them something entertaining to talk about at their next coffee klatch."

"You're going to do it?"

"Sis, you know my feelings. They know my feelings. That evidently isn't good enough. When reason doesn't work, it's tantrum time."

"I thought that was supposed to be my special technique."

"No, remember, you passed it down to the Ferocious One. I'm just borrowing it."

"The stage is set, the curtain rises." She grinned, but without much levity. The play was most likely going to be a tragedy.

Aaron smiled; he liked it when they called him things like that. He had been afraid Leo was angry at him for something, the way he'd walked in all silent and concentrated. Dad had on the big smile he wore when he was going to make someone do things they didn't want to. Mom was real quiet and pale. Aaron wasn't sure what was going to happen, but he had a good idea that there would be an explosion, but not the fun type. He looked on the bed, the suitcase was still closed, was Leo going off on a big trip again? Maybe that was why Mom was unhappy; she was worried about her oldest. He had came back from his big trip to Japan hurt so bad, this trip he hadn't sent postcards or anything, like he didn't like them anymore. If Leo left, who would be there for Liz and him?

Aaron was still pondering these things as Leo went down the stairs and turned right, into the living room with the big dark wood table, six chairs around it, and Mr. Thomas Green and Mrs. Anna Green sitting on the far side, a large manila envelope lying in the middle of the table. Aaron wanted to stay upstairs, away from whatever was going to happen down there, but Liz made up her mind and started to follow Leo down. Aaron couldn't stay up there alone, without even one of them.

Leo walked over to the table, went over to the side opposite the seated couple and nodded: "Hello Mother, Father. The place I'm not supposed to tell you I've been to is lovely this time of the year, I really hated to leave. I'm sure you remember my mentioning the reduced communications opportunities that would be in effect, so the lack of long distance calls or letters should have been no surprise to you. "

At that point his father took charge of the conversation: "Cut the crap Leo, you know we were setting up your marriage. It will be good for my political career; it will give you a chance to raise a family, a place to rest between missions, and somewhere peaceful to have a stable life."

The other two children entered the room, taking up positions to the left and right rear of Leo.

"Cut the crap Father, you know that I'm not getting married to someone you picked so you can pretend you're some modern day Borgia making political alliances. I've told you, don't you listen to anything said that uses sound waves?"

"You're my son, you're a minor. I can do what I want, and I've signed the papers for the contract. You are obligated; you can't get out with some childish stubborn fit."

"Where and when is your little mind? Twentieth century, USA? Post Civil War, end of slavery?"

"You citing Normal's law with me, child? You belong to AGER, and I'm moving to the Executive Council. And you're a child and a minor."

"Citing Normal's law to me, Father? You're wrong on that, civil rights and all that. I _work _for AGER; I have a contract and a confidentiality agreement, one that I've signed, with no parental control clause in it, and there couldn't be because Normal law _is _legally binding on us. And as far as AGER is concerned from the first time I jerked off into a test tube so that they'd have a Green Line fourth generation someday, they could have cared less about who I married and cheated on."

"I'm the one who's been wronged here!" Thomas said, glancing at the smallest child.

"Father, you underrate yourself, you are the pioneer and trailbreaker of Green family dysfunction. And this contract? It doesn't hold together." With that the envelope rose into the air and shredded itself into a dozen different slices. Anna Green turned stricken eyes at her youngest son; he looked bewildered about all this. Suddenly he knew he was in the center of everything, but why, or what was going on exactly was beyond him. Leo continued:"And without you selling my lily white ass on the block I doubt the Groves will care to get into bed with you, so the Executive Council may not be in your future anyway. That's even if you believe you can create the aristocrats of the coming, next Human Race."

Suddenly Aaron whimpered, and then started walking stiffly around the table. Thomas spat out: "In the end nothing you can do…", then gagged as Leo's fist crashed into his throat.

"Your personal tweak to Spiek, where you make Normals or weak Hier users into puppets isn't secret enough Dad." Liz said, "I worked out the pattern of use months ago, and now you've used it in front of four witnesses. It's a Wild Talent, a dangerous one too. You'll have to go into Observation. And when they put your mind back together again, well how many people will push for you to get on the Council after a scandal like that? Not to mention being worried that you've bent their minds?

"Mom will be sent to be examined, then therapy. Man, you think that just because we're not able to look in someone's head we can't see what you've been doing to her for years? Aaron, we're going to be calling Mr. Fermi, and he's going to send some agents. They're going to ask you questions, you tell them exactly the truth, and everything will be OK."

Aaron knew things wouldn't all be fine. Daddy was going to have things done to him, and Mommy was going to have to go to doctors. At least now Daddy wouldn't do that thing in his head that made him do bad things and get in trouble. And he'd have Liz and Leo; they were going to be there for him, like always.

That night things were better. Dad had gone away, but Mom was still there, she could still stay at home and only go to the doctors three times a week. She was happy, she wasn't even drinking. Right now all the kids were up in Leo's room. He had put his stuff away, and now they were all sitting on his bed. Aaron knew what was going to happen; Leo had his teacher's face on.

"Now get very comfortable, make your mind calm. Good, start to think of a place where all your thoughts and memories can be put, a safe and private place." Leo went on for an hour, occasionally glancing down at the book in his hand, **Occlumency for Beginners **by Gellert Grindelwald.


	19. Chapter 19

_I do not own, or receive any benefit from the Harry Potter properties_

Out of the West

Chapter 19-Seeking the Mother Lode.

Leipzig was supposed to be lovely in the spring. In winter it wasn't much to write home about. Which was just as well as Leo was currently Otto Hahn (he had the best papers for that name, and he spoke Berlin accented German anyway) and didn't want to send, or receive any mail from or for Leo Green of Los Alamos, New Mexico, USA. The weather was cold, damp and the air was still full of the sour smells of the Soviet era German Democratic Republic unfiltered style of industrialization. It was three years since the Wall fell, and two Germanys had become one again, but the old East Germany was still poorer, dirtier and full of the Stalinist paranoia that had been its mental framework since 1945. To deal with these things, in the old days, the answer had been to get thoroughly drunk as often as possible. In the these new days, with open commerce with the rest of the world and a slightly improved economic situation Punk music (with the sound turned up to 12) and a variety of drugs had been added to the youth scene.

Leo was currently immersed (thank god for the water-proof biker boots keeping the spilled beer from soaking his feet) in that scene. He was also deeply regretting not having put in some earplugs. A further source of discontent was that the girl sticking her tongue in his ear was too stoned to even know who she was making out with, and had too many studs stuck in her nose, lips and said tongue to be exactly in his comfort zone. She wasn't bad looking otherwise. But he preferred a slightly less direct form of the mating dance than her: "I have an itch between my legs, baby. Do you want to scratch it?" In fact that come-on would probably have worked a lot better if he wasn't a bit squeamish about hygiene, and hadn't been in the bar on business. That was also the reason for the boots, the leather jacket with pointed metal studs, and having his hair greased and spiked up. Blending in with locals, so to speak. One of the few who didn't was the man his business was about. Trench coat, cheap jacket and tie, poorly made shoes. He was an ex-Stasi agent who seemed to have hooked up with something even nastier than his old employers. Leo was to keep him under surveillance, and see if he could be traced back to the boss of a rapidly expanding crime, smuggling, drug, gun running and international forced prostitution group. Why Leo was really there was slightly different.

The German Federal Police were running a separate investigation from the Lander (State) police. It was far too obvious that the local investigation was penetrated by the criminals, and only three years after Unification there wasn't much trust in at the Federal level that anything governmental in the east wasn't too politically compromised to really dig deep. So they brought in their own men, and young Mr. Otto Hahn, from a family of German ex-pats living in the UK, having a fine recommendation from the British liaison with Interpol, had been brought in to help with the investigation. He was young enough to fit in better with the drug-prostitution angle. What they didn't know was that the British liaison man was under orders from MI5 to put Mr. Hahn in that spot. What MI5 didn't realize was that the British branch of AGER was interested in the case due to a number of reports that seemed to indicate an emergent was involved, someone with the anomalous and rare talent recently revealed by the investigation of Thomas Green of Los Alamos. Having someone with a high Shell (such as Leo Green) who had already proven to be immune to the coercive talent of Thomas Green (such as Leo Green), who spoke idiomatic Berlin accented German seemed to be the right way to go.

AGER's interest was due to one of the reports they had gotten through their Interpol connection. Several hundred pounds of pitchblende ore, from the same (now collapsed) Bohemian mine that had provided the seed uranium for the early Curie Laboratory experiments, and the Manhattan Project itself, was floating around unaccounted for after the collapse of the Soviet Union and Unification of the two Germanys. The Federal police had some interest in it, after all it could be sold to low characters wanting to put together their own atomic weapons. AGER was interested because other sources of uranium worked well enough to make weapons, or fuel power plants, but did not seem to produce the mutations that created emergent psionic powers. Having a source of the good, old, stuff might allow the creation of new varieties of emergents, and help to prevent excessive and dangerous inbreeding.

So at 1:30 AM Leo was backed against a wall, trying to keep his socks dry while a long tongue with dangerous studs threatened his ear drums as he tried to keep track of the middle aged man buying recreational drugs (evidently he wasn't allowed to touch the merchandise) who closed his deal and started heading to the exit. Leo gave the girl a peck on the lips, a pat on the rump and disengaged himself from her muttering: "Bye love, have to see a man about some violence." Probably that was not the smartest thing to say. Before she had just thought he was cute, now he had proved himself _interesting._ But too much booze, and the random assortment of pills she had taken earlier in the evening, had slowed up her reflexes and she missed her grab at Leo's arm. Behind him she swore that he would have to _beg_ to get anything off of her if they met in the future, and she would demand to be on top, too.

There was a light drizzle outside, cutting visibility a little, but making sound carry a bit better. Leo kept back thirty feet or so, avoiding splashing in puddles, and trying to not be too obvious in staying out of sight. It seemed to work well enough up to the point when, after ten minutes of trailing, another man came out of a closed storefront and began to talk with his quarry. It was obvious that the new guy had spotted him, so Leo continued at his current pace and went by them, a slight reek of spilled beer coming from his boots and jeans. He put up his usual light Teek alerting barrier behind him as he cleared them.

He didn't need it, as the obvious sound of someone running coming from his rear was more than enough warning. As Leo spun around he saw that one of the two men was no more than four feet from him, with his arm over his head, holding some sort of a club. Leo squatted down on one leg, spinning the other in a leg sweep. It took the attacker's feet out from under him, dumping him to the ground. The other, some thirty feet back, jabbed his hand into his overcoat pocket. Leo straightened up and tried to grab him with Teek, missing a firm grip as he sprinted toward the other before he could pull what was likely a gun out of his pocket. As the man's right hand, now with a small pistol in it, was clearing the pocket Leo had closed the distance enough to throw a straight hard punch into his gut. As the man folded Leo put an elbow into his face, and moving quickly to the right to put another fist into the kidney region. At this point the man dropped, and Leo felt a sharp pain in his left arm as two shots rang out from his rear.

Leo hit the ground on the far side of the man he had just decked, trying to use the shooter's friend for cover. Evidently they were not exactly best friends as the shots kept on coming, some obviously hitting the human barricade, one grazing Leo's right side. Leo grabbed the gun that had fallen close by the body he was hiding behind, flipping it into his right hand with a little Teek grab from five feet away. The shooter was standing upright when he pulled the trigger and nothing happened. As he began reaching into his coat for a reload Leo carefully aimed and squeezed off a round that took the man's left leg out. As he fell the gun dropped from his hand.

"Reach for your gun, and I'll put the next seven rounds into you," Leo said as he stood up. He walked over to his enemy. When he got close enough he kicked the man on the ground in the head, boots are good for this sort of thing. Making sure he was unconscious Leo checked around, he figured that where was probably a few minutes until any police showed up. The man he had used for cover was now dead. Quickly going over and pulling the wallet, money and keys from the corpse he Teeked him into a dark alley. Then going over to the reviving ambusher Leo gave him another kick in the head. He wadded up his handkerchief and pushed it in the arm of his leather jacket to put some compression on his arm wound. Leo Teeked the remaining pistol, a Walther PP like the one he had pocketed from the dead man, over next to the corpse. Then he Teeked the man up to his feet, and walking him like a clumsy puppet operator set off to find a public phone.

A fifteen minute walk was needed to discover a working phone. Leo really regretted breaking the little light that came on when the door was closed, but if there was a passerby he didn't want to be too easily seen and identified. He did a good bit of thinking as he waited for pickup. There was no reason the men should have been certain enough about him to do an all out attack to capture or kill, unless he had been betrayed. That meant someone on the German team he was working with must have done it, only they had seen him dressed up all Punk, and the distinctive jacket had also been their idea. Now if he could only remember which person had suggested it.

After the pickup, back at the house that had been rented to run the operation out of, Leo gave the story of the evening's events. He left out his analysis of the situation. When a "safe" doctor arrived to treat his wounds Leo insisted that nothing beyond local anesthetic be used. He got praise as a "tough little bugger" for taking down two armed men without carrying anything himself. No one objected that he took up the captured Walther PP pistol and a spare magazine when he went out to get to his hotel room.

Instead of going to his room, though, he went to the address that had been in the dead man's wallet. To unlock the door he relied on simple, normal lock picking. A short search turned up a note pad next to the phone with Leo's current description, along with the interesting initials, GS. The question was, do this hard or soft? It was probably time to refer to higher authority. Back to the public phones, a call to Quiller, who of course wasn't up at this hour waiting for his call, and would no doubt call him back at some unpleasant hour of the morning. Now it must be time to finally, actually, get to bed. Leo had decided that this Secret Agent business was all fun and games until someone shoots you, you bruise your knuckles on someone's boney chin, and you bang up your knees and side trying to get out of the line of fire behind a corpse. Maybe he should have just let that girl in the bar grab him, and stayed for three or four quickies in the alley behind the bar.

At 8:23AM, which counts as an unpleasant hour in the morning if you've gotten to bed after 4AM, Quiller's call woke him up. They'd try it soft, with enough backup to go hard if needed.

At the crack of noon Leo showed up at the operations HQ, his arm in a sling, playing the injured but still game hero. He sat around, shooting the breeze until only the man with the interesting initials was around, Georg Stein. Leo proposed a simple cash offer for some man portable ground-to-air missiles, with the possibility of, perhaps, a few more things added to the deal. The man hardly even denied the connection, which was interesting enough by itself. He came around with an address after only a few minutes of ring-around-the-policeman. Leo then, when the room had filled up enough later, said he was feeling poorly, and was going back to his room. Instead he went to the corner of Riechstrasse and Bruhl and got into the first cab whose driver greeted him right off the bat with an English greeting of: "Leslie Groves was a prick." As this was the unanimous opinion of all those who had worked on the Project, passed on as folklore to all their descendents, it worked well as an impromptu identifier. Leo gave him the address, cautioned that it was probably only a way station, and gave him a run down on who was a bent copper, and what the current situation was. The cabby called in to the rest of the team before he dropped Leo off in a run-down warehouse district off of the Eisenbahnstrasse.

He climbed up an exterior stair to the office of the warehouse, and on being invited in entered a dimly lit and thoroughly dingy two chairs and a desk office. As he entered he was grabbed by both arms, and then had them twisted up behind his back, the sling half strangling him. He just gave a grunt, and didn't fight when they reached into his jacket and pulled out the pistol, then pulled open his shirt to check for a radio link to some stake out crew. Secretly Leo was pleased, but out loud he just said: "You could have just asked. I'm not dumb enough to come in here wired. Just take me where the deals can be made."

"Why are interested in that type of merchandise?"

"I have some connections with people who have relatives in the eastern Med. They feel the need for some home protection, against large flying bugs. You have an oversupply of SA7's; I know how to get the money to you through a contact in Beirut. Everyone walks away happy."

"You're supposed to be the Feds' Boy Scout stalking horse, what are you doing working for the Palis?"

"The Federal police are charmingly naïve about some things. My neighbors back in Britain are not the Turks you've got here, but people with serious grievances back home, they even have the keys to the houses they were driven out of forty years ago. They know how to get funds from the land of Thirty Thousand Princes." Seeing the blank look on his interrogator's face Leo tried again, "The KSA, land of sand and oil." After a moment he saw a look of comprehension come over the man's face.

"Yah, they are right horny bastards, aren't they? They're buying up every natural blonde we can ship them. I'll contact the Boss, wait here."

He went out of the room, evidently to another phone. Leo had not trouble waiting quietly; he rarely did when there were two men pointing weapons at him. The man returned and waved for him to follow as he went down an internal staircase, across the floor of the stuffed warehouse, and through a concealed door into another building backing on the one they were in. The other warehouse was also stuffed with containers, including four that Leo noticed were of steel, with radiation warning signs stenciled on them. In a large open space near a set of big doors there was a smallish helicopter. It was all very impressive in a kind of sub-James Bondish way.

This time they went through a doorway with steps leading downward. "Dungeons, where would we be without them?" thought Leo to himself. When they got to the bottom level there was a corridor leading into a room with a thick metal door. Four men were in the room, playing cards with their AKMs leaning against the nearby wall. One looked up and said: "The Boss is waiting for you, standard procedures." The others kept their eyes on their cards, except when they were checking each other's faces for "tells".

They went through another extra strength door into a largish room with some amenities, communications gear, chairs and a largish conference table, a small refrigerator and hot plate, and a leather couch with a few throw pillows on it and an afghan.

The man who waited for them had let himself go a bit, overweight though slightly tall, hair a dirty blonde, an expensive suit with a few signs that he was a messy man when he ate. Leo was brought to a plain wooden chair near the large table, pushed down into and tied with his hands behind his back. "You know, with customer service like this, I'm surprised you have _any_ repeat customers," he said.

At a nod from the boss Leo's guide left the room, shutting the door behind him. It looked soundproof as well as steel plated. The boss went over and locked it, then came around in front of Leo, and smiled. "I think that you have some interesting connections, ones I'd like to use."

"For a modest commission I'd be very glad to arrange some deals. That way you'd have a natural cut-out if things go wrong." Leo said.

"I think I'll save on the commission fees. I have a better way of insuring you're going to work well for me." At that the man pulled a wand out of his sleeve and cried out, "Crucio!"

It was the single most painful minute Leo had ever endured. Getting shot was a lark in comparison. He knocked the chair over and convulsed as the wizard kept the spell operating. Needles being scrapped over every nerve in his body were what it felt like. When the man let the spell lapse he mused in a self-satisfied way: "It always feels so good, on this end of course. And it always sets the target up so well for the next stage. Even smug bastards like you roll over to show submission after a good Crucio. Imperio! Now, who's your Boss, the one who can make you hurt or make things nice? Huh?"

As his limbs stopped twitching Leo felt a warm wave wash over him, like when he was a little kid and he knew Dad was there and could always protect him and make things right. Wait, Dad was evil, wasn't he?


	20. Chapter 20

I do not own, or derive any profit, the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 20-Unfortunate turn of phrase.

Johann Strauss, wizard and criminal mastermind with aspirations to political domination of the new, united Germany, thought of a humorous Yankee saying: "So who's your daddy now, boy? Who will be pulling your strings?"

The youth lying tied up on the floor replied with a flat tone: "You're the Boss. I'm here to do your work."

Satisfied Johann bent over and untied Hahn. He told Hahn to sit at the table and make a list of his contacts and their address and telephone numbers. As Hahn stood up and stretched Johann went back to the fridge to get a cold beer. No one was more surprised than he when he felt an arm slam against his windpipe while a series of punches rammed into his kidneys. Before he could even collapse, his wand was pulled out of his arm holster and he was thrown against the couch. Still dazed, he was then picked up and slammed into the same wooden chair Hahn had been in, and roughly tied up to it with his arms behind him. "I have always been an ungrateful child," Hahn said.

Leo had been working on fighting his way through the controlling spell when Strauss had added his, "Who's your daddy now, boy?" That by itself was enough to snap him back into full possession of his will. In the future he'd be better prepared to deal with the spell; currently he was thoroughly pissed, and willing to let a bit of his darker side come out. He reached into an arm pocket of his leather coat and pulled out his Swiss Army knife, once he had been frisked for the gun and a radio transmitter they hadn't gone any further, he was a customer after all. He opened it to the large blade and left it on the table. Then he went to a telephone sitting on an end table near the couch and called a contact number. When the call was picked up he described where he was, how to get there as best he could, and said that he would leave the line open so that they could also trace the call and see if they could get confirmation of the location that way also. Then he put a pillow over the receiver, walked back to the table, pulled out a notebook and pencil and sat down opposite his torturer. He began to ask the man a series of questions in a calm, almost monotone voice: name, home address, previous occupation, almost as if he was asking things of a job applicant. When Strauss began to curse and threaten him Leo calmly got up, walked around to the other side of the table and calmly slapped him across the face hard enough to make his teeth ache. And then he said, "One."

Leo then returned to his side of the table, picked up the pencil again and began to ask about associates and contacts in various police agencies. Strauss gave them up quickly, with no trace of regret. They were only dirty cops anyway. When the questions got into politicians Strauss began to sweat, and his answers became a little forced. Leo tilted his head a bit and considered, it seemed time to do some reinforcement to the conditioning process. He got up and went over to the seated man, cocked his elbow and smacked Strauss in the face, breaking his nose. Blood began to dribble down his face. Leo walked back to his chair and said "Two." Strauss looked at the knife lying on the table. The answers he began to give to the same questions were a bit different now. Leo's voice never rose from its quiet, even tone. He took off his jacket, it was getting a bit warm and stuffy.

After several minutes of increasingly focused questions the door into the room slammed open and one of the card players poked his head in yelling, "We're being raided Boss, come out and-" On seeing who was in the position of control he came into the room and lifted up the assault rifle in his right hand. Before he could grab the fore stock with his left hand ten or more of the pointed, chromed, metal studs ripped themselves off of the leather coat and slammed into him, the door and the wall around him. As he dropped Leo jumped up, pulled him into the room and grabbed the gun. He didn't really know how to use it, but pulling the charging handle to feed a round into the chamber and setting the selector to auto fire wasn't very difficult. Guarding a single door from off to the side it seemed even an amateur could hold a position with an application of "spray and pray." Regretfully Strauss was still in the field of fire, so Leo Teeked him over to his side and tipped the chair over. Due to the direction he had been facing Strauss had no idea what had happened, it was just another painful experience in what had become the worst day of his life.

Leo Teeked his knife back into his pocket, closed of course. The noise of automatic weapons fire was coming closer when the lights died. Leo set out a light Teek barrier at the door way. A man burst through it, coughing and crying. A faint scent of tear gas began to become noticeable. Leo reestablished the Teek barrier, and tried to locate the intruder with his Sie. Strauss was crying and moaning. The other man let off a string of rounds at nothing in particular, but in a small room with large pieces of thick metal in it there was an exceptionally good chance that a bullet or its ricochet would hit _someone._ The flash of the gun gave Leo a direction to locate his target with, he got a fix, and let loose with a burst. The man dropped and began to scream as several bullets entered his gut. Leo was able to Sie where the AKM had fallen, and Teeked it away from the man to his side. The sound of firing stopped outside. A moment later the lights came back on. A familiar voice called out in English: "Otto, Otto, are you there?"

Leo yelled out confirmation, and three men walked in to the room. It was hard to see who they were, under their gas masks. As they didn't point the SMGs they were carrying at Leo it was a good guess that they were his AGER backup. He surrounded his head with a globe of air, and held it in place. Strauss was being affected by the tear gas that had come into the room when the team had entered. Leo Teeked the chromed spikes out of the walls, door and the unlucky fellow that had caught them in his chest. The he flipped Strauss's chair over so he could grab the back and pull the man out, at least until the stairs, those Strauss was going to have to go up under his own power.

Strauss was able to do that, though he was suffering badly due to the gas. At least it was only tear gas; a mixture of vomiting agent would have made everything a lot harder and messier. When they got to the warehouse area Leo noticed a medium sized box truck backing in through the open doors. The assault team pulled off their masks and revealed themselves as Quartermain, Smiley and a stranger to Leo. They had on helmets and protective vests, as well as a harness with spare magazines and a number of spare gas grenades.

Leo pulled Strauss to him by the collar, "Where are the SA7s, the RPGs, and the radioactive stuff?" he harshly asked. Strauss was almost hysterical in his eagerness to point out things. He didn't want to get the young psychopath angry at him. He had worked enough interrogations with trained sadists to know exactly how those calm voiced men who didn't even change their tone when they broke bodies would react to being frustrated or delayed. Two men came out of the truck, and as soon as the strike team had taken off their combat equipment they started to load it up. While this was going on Leo took out his pad and continued to interview Strauss. After the heavy items were in the truck Quartermain came over to Leo, and reading from the notes essentially repeated the same questions. After doing that he told Leo to go over a few aisles and get some particular boxes. Leo protested.

"I just had a bullet taken out of my arm, I can't handle any heavy stuff."

"Wimp! I'll take Professor Moriarty here, you help with loading the lorry, snap to it. Or I'll tell the crew you've gotten soft."

Leo went off to get the crates, while Quartermain frog-marched Strauss out into the trunk of a waiting auto. He knew well enough to tie him up well, and put a gag in his mouth too. Knowing that there would be no inconvenient witnesses Leo found the significant boxes, and Teeked them over to the truck in two trips. "Showoff", commented the rest of the work crew, none of them able to Teek more than 50 lbs at a time. "Would you rather have humped it over here by yourselves?" Leo answered back. As they were all sweating, even in the cold, and breathing heavy, none of them bothered to try for a quick snap-back reply. They all piled into the truck, all three in the front. The area was isolated and all, but there had been a bit of a gun battle, and a number of bodies being left behind. Contacts with the police would allow a good bit of evidence to disappear, but actually being discovered on the scene was tempting fate.

By the time Leo arrived at the safe house the British team had set up he was feeling wobbly. His arm wound had opened up again, probably when he had been having convulsions in the basement of the warehouse. He wanted to sit in with Strauss's continuing interrogation, but he just didn't feel up to it, and instead got his arm bandaged again, then went off to find an overstuffed chair in an unused room.

Leo's absence didn't make the brain rape go any easier for Strauss. Though he didn't know it, every time he lied to the grim men talking to him (happy that the mild looking little punk wasn't looking into his soul and finding it… tasty) they, or at least Quartermain and Quiller, were seeing inside his thoughts where he was making up the lies. There are ways to confuse mind readers, but they are hard work and need a lot of training. Strauss didn't even know he had to try, and was actually spilling his guts when he thought that he was covering himself brilliantly. Quiller thought for a moment of sending the truck back for another load, but finally decided that the gain wasn't worth the risks. Besides, after this session with Strauss he'd have to use his contacts to get the identity of Otto Hahn cleared of any suspicion, and get Georg Stein under investigation. No rest for the wicked. Unless Stein had been under the mental compulsion Leo had said Strauss was able to throw on people. It was worth thinking about.

Three days later they had a fairly complete list of those Strauss had put under his Imperio, and a rough idea of how long that might last if it wasn't refreshed. Stein had been one of those gotten to, so except for getting some evidence that might be useable on him at a later date Quiller decided not to blow the whistle on him. Strauss should be giving valuable data for at least two weeks more, Quiller decided. When he had no more to give disposing of him had to be done. Leo had volunteered to do it, but Quiller had seen the kid's heart wasn't in it. John Quartermain would be glad enough to do it, it wasn't as if he had any conscience left anymore, anyway. Cleaning out Strauss's bank accounts and various emergency caches would net AGER a good number of millions with, as customary, those directly responsible getting a small but pleasant percentage. All told, running this little operation had just about secured Quiller's appointment to the Executive Council. It felt so good to be obviously (aside from the odd murder) on the side of the angels this time.

Three days later a young man in a pair of biker boots, a brown bomber jacket, with his hair lying smooth on his hear walked into a trendy bar in Leipzig. When his eyes had adjusted to the various smokes inside he saw a knot of three young women over in a corner, laughing at each other's jokes. One of them he knew, a little. She was pretty, but had on too much makeup, and thought that more was better in regard to body decoration. He walked over, dancing around the crush of couples pretending to dance together when all they were really doing was showing off. When he got to his goal he gently grabbed her shoulder and turned her around. At first she didn't recognize him, her being currently sober and him showing an entirely different look. Then she started a roundhouse slap. He grabbed her arm with his right hand and twisted it around behind her back. This brought them close together, face to face.

"Do you want to spend another night getting stoned, or can we finish what we should have done the other night? I leave this town tomorrow, spend tonight with me."

She thought a moment, then grabbed his head with her other hand, and bent his head over for a kiss, there was only a inch or two between them in height and everything met perfectly without any hesitation. They left without another word, going directly toward the door, holding hands. Even though he wasn't big he just pushed those in their way to either side. They were gone before anyone had gotten their act together enough to start a fight.


	21. Chapter 21

I do not own, or receive any benefit, from the Harry Potter properties

Out of the West

Chapter 21-Family things.

By the time Leo got home he was completely functional again. Still stiff and he'd need some more rest before he did anything physically taxing, but completely functional. Mom was doing better; she was weepy and overprotective, but now out from her husband's influence she was slowly recovering from the constant manipulations. Aaron was hopping around, not sure if showing how hard he was working on his Occlumency was more important than showing off how much better he was at reading the minds of animals, or if he should just bring out the trophy he had won for swimming at the Y. Liz was the problem.

Every time he came back from a mission, with even the smallest puncture in his hide she got all nervous, and took it out by yelling at him. She didn't take the Walther pistol he'd smuggled back into the country as a useful trophy, but as a reminder that every time he left home on an assignment there was a chance that someone would try to kill him.

Leo thought that things weren't nearly that dire. After all, for the next few weeks he would be placed on a limited duty roster and only be sent on missions unlikely to have violent outcomes. Really just a chance to catch up on his schoolwork while picking up a little spare cash. It wasn't easy cramming nine months of studying into the amount of time he had back home being Leo Green. Plus they would have to get ready to move; despite her age, Liz had been accepted at MIT for the next year, and the whole family would be relocating to Cambridge.

Leo was willing to give her a lot of emotional slack. She'd be leaving all of her friends (she and Lucy Fermi had been having a contest on who would have the first "real" date for the last two years) and her job doing consulting for AGER HQ. Just as he had the current high listing for Shell, Liz was pretty much the tops for ETeek. She could, at a cost, become the Girl in the Machine. Until she found a backdoor into one of MIT's Cray supercomputers she wouldn't be able to do the high security work that had been her specialty. So Leo figured she'd be unable to do any "real" work for at least two months. She'd also be surrounded by an overwhelmingly male bunch of genius geeks, who would likely be very unpleasantly competitive when confronted with a fourteen year old cute genius. They'd better not try anything! And anything she'd left over, he'd burn to ashes!

In fact it was almost three weeks before Leo got a call to do a job anymore engaging than monitor the tables at the AGER owned casino in Reno over the weekends. Sometimes people with Teek too slight for them to even know themselves that they had would get on a hot run at the tables. Then somebody with the talent would go in and see if there was anything intentionally psionic going on. No, as he had half been expecting, he instead got an urgent call to head east to St. Louis.

No details were given, just the woman in charge of the St. Louis office wanted him out there, yesterday. She had to settle for tomorrow. When the family heard the news that he'd be away for a few days they each took it much as he expected; Mom went to make sure he had packed everything he would need. Aaron wanted to go with him. He had heard Leo and Liz taking about the Martins, and that they had a girl just his age, Lou-Anne Martin (he had even seen her in the family photo Rosalie had sent to Leo last Christmas), and he thought it would be cool to meet her. Leo hadn't been briefed much, but he had been assured that there wasn't any rough stuff expected. He was half minded to take Aaron along, even though he would have to pay for the airfare himself. Leo decided to try talking to Mom about it.

Liz stormed up from the dinner table and went up to her room without talking to him. Leo figured he'd let her cool off before seeing what she was upset about. If it was just general irritation he'd let her yell it out at him. If it was something more serious, well they'd have to work on it together.

He went up to talk while Mom was helping Aaron with his spelling homework, after that there would be reading so Leo felt he would have plenty of time to straighten things out with Liz. Her door wasn't locked, a good sign. He always hated either talking through a closed door, or picking the lock. She was sitting on her bed, watching the door as he entered. Leo smiled; she was keeping alert, just as he'd been teaching her to.

"I've been thinking of asking Mom if Aaron could go with me, take a day off from school and come back Sunday. He's never been away from home; he'd have a blast taking a plane. And he's wanted to meet Lou-Anne anyway." Leo knew that he had no better way to show to Liz that he expected no trouble than taking, or even talking of taking, Aaron with him. "Maybe you could put in a good word to Mom on this?"

"You're not going to meet a dragon or Medusa are you? No kingpin criminal wizards or armies of Nazi storm troopers? No Teek 10 psychopaths or wild talent mind dominators?"

Leo could tell that she'd been using her job at HQ to raid the computer files on all his missions. As she was probably the best computer person in the organization it was hard to keep her out of anything she wanted to find out. It was hard to reassure your little sister by lying to her about what you met in the great world outside when she had access to everything you did, or at least reported you did. He was glad that this time he was having no reservations about what he was walking into.

"No, it sounds like just another Martin family crisis. I'm almost sorry I did so good a job of making them think I know what I'm doing. By Newton and Bohr I swear I suspect no danger to any of the mighty blood of Green!" Stuff like that always got her to laugh, and worked again this time.

"Yeah, I'll help you. I'd go myself, but the Japanese org has got something brewing and they're sending a delegate to do a briefing. Fermi wants me there to do something he can't explain. If it weren't for Lucy I'd tell him to stick it, but he is her father. And at least he's decent." She hadn't been briefing the family on the latest results of the investigation of Thomas Green, who he had ruined and who seduced. Finding out the truth about her father had made her more appreciative of the duller, but more reliable, fathers of her friends.

With the children showing a united front Anna Green agreed. With both Leo and Aaron away, and Elizabeth working this weekend she would finally have some real alone time. They had all been angels (even Aaron) since Tom had been… taken away, but their constant attention had been getting a little tiring. It would be good for Aaron, he would have to make a big change later this year anyway, this way he wouldn't be freaked out by air travel, or staying in a different place overnight.

In fact Aaron loved the flight, and loved the limo that picked them up at the airport. The only difficulty for Leo was in keeping him from taking a ride on the baggage carousel_. _On the trip Aaron hadbeen telling him about the jungle he was growing in his mind, with Nag and Sher Khan to guard it. The person in the row behind them thought it was just a little boy who had just read **The Jungle Book**_;_ Leo knew it was an accurate description of a young emergent learning how to defend his mind against intrusion.

After dropping their bags off at the hotel they checked in at the local AGER office. The local Head of Station looked at Aaron queerly for a second, then nodded her head in agreement with some internal decision she had made. She assigned them a car and a driver. Leo made a call to the Martins, quickly got their agreement that he come out there, and collected the Master of Disaster and left. Of course, since Dad hadn't been pulling Aaron's strings he had actually been a lot less destructive, even if just as active. A lot less injured too.

At the Martins' house they got out, leaving the driver to watch the car. It wasn't a _bad_ neighborhood, but an outsider might want to watch his car. Mrs. Martin was there, as was Lou-Anne. She and Aaron just looked at each other without speaking for a minute, and then she nodded her head toward a side door leading to the back yard. Without any sound he went over to her, and then they both went outside. Leo and Mrs. Martin looked at each other with big smiles. "Looks like she's got him trained already," she said. Leo nodded.

"Where would you like me to talk with Rosalie?" Leo asked.

"Oh, it's not about Rosalie, she's doing fine. She's at that special school for another hour today."

"What's the problem then?"

"Something with Tina, our middle girl. Just… just look for yourself, through there," pointing toward the living room.

Leo went to the doorway and looked inside. There was a full sized car, a convertible in the room, crowding all the furniture into the fringes of the room, near the walls. There were two people in it.

Leo took two calming breaths, set his mind in order and looked at things more closely. The car wasn't actually one; it was more like a huge plastic shell, a model car made large. The two people in the front seats were articulated dolls, African-American looking. Everything looked vaguely familiar; he had seen them, or something like them (but a lot smaller) before. "Barbies!"

"Well, Christie and Steven," Mrs. Martin said, "Kinda the same thing. Tina was getting teased by Lou-Anne and Rosalie about being such a little girl, playing with little girl toys, and then she got angry and said that Rosie shouldn't be lording over everyone just 'cause she's special. And Rosie don't, really. She's stayed just as sweet as ever. But it's always like that, Tina has been so jealous of Rosie so she started it up, and Lou-Anne always backs up her big sister 'cause Tina, she's a little bossy, and then the tempers got up, at least Tina's. Then she said she wasn't no little girl playing with little girl toys, and…" Mrs. Martin pointed to the pink plastic car, "That happened!"

"Oh… Kay," Leo was glad of his stint in Britain, and investigating the vagaries of the British Wizarding educational system, "Is it alright if I use your phone? I think there is a man who can help me on this; I'd like to talk with him. Is it alright if I talk with Tina for a while?"

"She's been hiding in her room since it happened, hardly eating or anything."

"I'll see what I can do, maybe if you could make some hot chocolate and some of your biscuits? I'll take them up for her, if anything will get her in a better mood it'll be your cooking."

Leo made his international telephone call, then let Mrs. Martin know that she should be getting a call from overseas in a little while, and went up with the food. Of course she had made enough for two, or even four.

Tina's door was locked, instead of trying to deal through a closed door Leo just Teeked it open and walked in. The ten year old girl was curled up on her bed, in a corner, hugging a pillow. She looked at him, then squeezed her eyes shut, as if not seeing him would make him disappear. He wafted the order of the chocolate and biscuits to her, and set the tray with everything on it down on her desk, and pulled up a chair and sat down.

"I'll be having some, you can too. We have to talk about things."

"I don't have to talk, anyway. You can just look in my head and see everything, anyway."

Leo put some of the biscuits in a plate, and took it, and a cup of chocolate over to her.

"Nope, can't do it."

"Don't lie! You're a special, you can do things like that."

"Nope, can't. I'm different. I'm special because I _can't_ do that."

"What's so special about that?"

"'Cause nobody can read mine either. I like it that way, but it's not as much fun as what you can do."

She took the cup, had a sip, and asked: "Whata you mean? I just make things blow up and make a big mess." She then took a biscuit, and ate it as fast as missing breakfast and lunch could make her. There was the sound of children's voices coming through the window, from the back yard.

"Different people are special different ways. Rosalie can read minds, and move stuff. My brother, Aaron, he's out back, can do things with animals. You can make things get bigger. You can't control it yet, 'cause you haven't had a chance to learn how, yet. But you can, I even think I know where there is a good school for you. Right now a friend of mine, who knows a lot about this kind of thing, is getting ready to call me, and tell me exactly how to make everything better. He'll even know how long the car downstairs will be that way."

Leo certainly hoped that Black would be calling back with that kind of information. From listening in on things over the summer Leo had an idea that the enlarged auto would revert back very soon, accidental magic could be impressive, but was rarely stable. Until then he felt it was important to keep the girl from going into a depression, or a panic. Oh, and fed and hydrated also. He slowly got her to admit that over the last year or so there had been a number of little strange things happening from time to time. It took over an hour, but she finally saw the resemblance to what her older sister had been going through the year before. By the time he had to go downstairs and answer the telephone, with Black on the other end, Tina had calmed down considerably, and had agreed to come downstairs for supper later.

Black's call, when it came, confirmed Leo's memory. Yes, it certainly sounded like accidental magic. The charm that enlarged things would certainly run down soon, it was unusual that an untrained young witch had got it to last this long. Certainly he'd send materials to the MFC to forward on magical education in the US. "And how are you, young Otto? So nice to know that the MFC hadn't been lying, and that you hadn't been eaten by something in the Forbidden Forest. You could have sent a card or something. Walburga has improved no end; she was now in a new greenhouse that Kreacher has kept perpetually growing."

Leo promised (as Otto) to keep in touch and rang off. Then, looking at the whole family gathered around him he said the only thing he could think of: "Let's eat out, my treat."

The next morning was Saturday; he and Aaron joined the Martins for an eggs, sausage and grits breakfast. They were extremely cheerful, and after the dishes were cleared off they showed the New Mexicans why. In the living room the auto was now a respectable 14 inches long, and the riders fit stiffly, but properly sized, in it. Tina, Rosalie, the parents and Leo settled in rearranging the furniture back into place, while Lou-Anne and Aaron went up to her room. When everything was set up Leo began to give them the Talk on the things a young witch, and her parents and older sister, should know about being a witch. There were a lot of "What?" and "You're kidding me!" moments. Tina took to the idea very well, even agreeing that it would be best, when she went out in Wizarding society, to be discrete about her big sister's special talents and very odd Muggle friends.

Everything seemed to be going along swimmingly when Lou-Anne and Aaron came running down the stairs. He was on the verge of tears; she had a long bleeding scratch on her cheek. Aaron said that he had been bad, and should be punished, he had hurt her. Lou-Anne was patting him on his arm and telling him it wasn't his fault. Aaron set his shoulders, and standing stiffly confessed. He had been telling Lou-Anne about the jungle he had been growing inside his mind to protect him, and when she had gone into his head to look, Sher Khan had scratched her. He was going to be very firm with Sher Khan, that cat should have known better than to hurt a nice girl. But it was his fault, and he would accept his punishment.

Lou-Anne kept repeating that it wasn't bad, took out a handkerchief and tried to wipe off the blood, saying it would heal real fast. As she moved her hand over the cut it stopped bleeding, and the edges of the scratch knitted together as they watched. No one could think of what to say, until Leo commented: "Mrs. Martin, Mr. Martin, you have a very talented family."

Author's Note:

Back in Chapter 4, and in Chapter 6, I mentioned the ages of Liz and Aaron at being 12 and 5 respectively. On further consideration, and for better dramatic usage of the characters they are now 14 and 8 at the current time. The original ages have been edited in the earlier chapter(s).


	22. Chapter 22

I do not own, or receive any benefit, from the Harry Potter properties

Out of the West

Chapter 22-April 1994

"Mrs. Martin, Mr. Martin, you have a very talented family." Leo said as he looked at the youngest of their children exhibiting a psionic talent that, as far as he could remember, had been observed only in one other emergent, and her a 4th generation. As they looked on with a mixture of confusion and pride Leo worked it out in his head. Three of three children in the family were showing early (though varying) types of special powers. At least now there was less chance of one being jealous of the others, and causing a security breach. On the other hand, the paperwork he'd have to do on getting back to HQ was going to be a mind-numbing killer.

It turned out that Lou-Anne had been the family's "little nurse" for several years, always going around with a bunch of bandages in her pocket or pencil case, patching her friends up when they got scraped in the schoolyard or playground. No one had, until now, ever noticed how fast the cuts that she had worked on healed, compared to the speed the school nurse managed to achieve. Mrs. Martin remembered how her grandmother had had a reputation as a "healer" back in Louisiana, but had always thought that the stories had more of a family joke than anything else. Mr. Martin was wondering if AGER would be coming up with some more financial aid, it looked like all of his children would need special (in a good way) education, and that could cost.

Aaron took it in stride, he was happy that Lou-Anne wasn't hurt anymore (though Sher Khan would still get a talking to) and everybody was happy about her talent. Having grown up in a family that way above average (even for emergents) in their talents he didn't think anything odd about the Martin's situation, except to wonder why they hadn't noticed her Hier ability before. Perhaps they just thought she was the quiet one in the family.

The time was 11:22 AM on April 12, 1994. In St. Louis the Martin family was receiving another surprise, but one that they had some experience in handling. It was 10:22 AM in Los Alamos, New Mexico where in a very private meeting Mr. Albert Fermi, Executive Director of Field Operations for AGER was being briefed by a representative of the Children of Fire on the possible destruction of the Japanese emergent community, either by a pogrom, enslavement, or mass imprisonment. There were, of course, major implications on how emergents would be affected worldwide. Elizabeth (Liz) Green was listening with a calm face, handling electronic security, and feeling sick to her stomach. She now knew why she had been called in; she would be expected to volunteer. And when she did Fermi knew that Leo would demand to go. Her brother was so predictable that way.

The time was 5:22 AM in Britain where Narcissa Malfoy lay awake, alone, in her bed and wondered when her husband would get back from his "night out with the boys". She was used to waking alone; after all it was how she went to bed most usually. At least with the Dark Lord gone there were rarely any blood stains to scrub out of Lucius' clothes. You could have the House Elves do that, but she had always felt embarrassed by having them become accomplices to murder. Lucius, of course, could never be bothered to clean anything that didn't show on the outside. At least Draco was safe at Hogwarts, he was at an impressionable age and she didn't want him exposed to some of his father's… tastes. She thought of her cousin, how strange to think he had been innocent all along. That he had never been a Death Eater had been obvious to anyone who had ever known him. If she allowed herself she would have become sad. No family she could talk to left but a son who was away ten months of the year and … Lucius.

Sirius Black lay in his bed and worried that Julia was ill. Two nights ago she had slept over, and gotten up in a rush in the morning to be sick in the lav. She had been going around with a queasy stomach for some days now. He hated it when she was ill. She was very independent, and a few years older than him. Would he drive her away if he proposed?

Julia Rosmerta (in her room at the Three Broomsticks) was in the bathroom being sick. She was miserable and happy. She really didn't want to be alone, but she needed time to think, and when she was around him all she seemed to be able to do was _feel, _very intensely. Sirius hated the whole business of the "Ancient and Noble House of Black", and said that he wanted to end the whole, inbred, line. What would he do when she told him she was pregnant? She had no doubt about one thing, she _would _have this baby.

Draco Malfoy stood in the cold spray of water in the Slytherin showers and rinsed off his body. He felt pathetic. A pretty face and a nice bum and he wanted the girl, pureblood or mudblood, it didn't matter. Thank Merlin he could drive some away by being an arse, otherwise he'd be sending half the girls in his class flowers and candy, family or House be damned. He was a Malfoy, damn it! He should have taste, should despise anyone of a tainted family, or touched by the Muggle. Instead he burned, and had to get up early to take cold showers and deal with his weakness.

Peter Pettigrew endured his sixth month of captivity in Azkaban, his second of complete madness. The guard's pool on whether he would last the year (in a dead-miserable posting like Azkaban you took what amusement you could) was leaning heavily toward a late summer death-date.

Luna Lovegood was finished with her morning's work. Fun was fun, but this hiding her schoolwork would have to stop. Her dorm mates were about to get a small taste of Lovegood vengeance. When later today, in one class or another, when the other students or the teacher wondered why a Ravenclaw second year girl gave a scream and fell to the floor with an agonized expression on her face the question would be whispered: "What's got her panties in a knot?" Luna would know.

Albus Dumbledore was just returning from a trip to the bathroom. Once you passed a hundred or so even a wizard tended to make more trips to that location than when he was a spry fifty. He was moderately content. Tom hadn't shown himself in the last year, even the bloody diary hadn't really been Tom, just a poisonous memento. No students had died this year that was always a great bother with parents and inquiries and such. Harry had been properly warned about young Sirius, there hadn't even been any owling between the two of them. Another victory for Team Dumbledore, keeping the Wizarding World safe since 1945. Black was supposedly keeping company with the mistress of the Three Broomsticks, that should keep him out of trouble and far too busy to interfere with Harry's proper preparation. The old wizard gave a small sigh; then a little grin of recognized envy. He had always been so busy in his life; he had never really had a chance to sow many wild oats. At least he had never begrudged any of the younglings their brief chances at happiness.

April 11th, 8:22 in Japan, Tanaka Akira waited in his office for the arrogant young monster to come for their meeting. The mannerless fool didn't even realize he should come early to meetings with his patron, even if just to wait outside in proper humility. When Ito had come to him months ago with his stories (and proof) of psionic powers, and his vague speculations on how they could be cancelled Tanaka had instantly grasped the potentials to not only crush his rivals in the industrial pharmaceutical field, but to actually take control of the whole nation. As those weird Esper powers were generated by the brain it was obvious that the proper neuro-chemical could block them. With the laboratories of his company, and a supply of test subjects, developing such a chemical was only a matter of time. Ito had supplied the kidnapped guinea pigs, an act of treachery that only confirmed Tanaka's scorn of him as an inhuman creature without any honor, even to his own kind. Now the Esper Council were considering his ultimatum; become his secret army of spies and saboteurs or be revealed to the public, and with his anti-psi gas, destroyed as monsters. One, though, he would certainly spare. A priestess of tender years and just blossoming beauty. A maiden of ancient lineage (an actual Minamoto) who not only stirred him as he had not been aroused in decades, but actually was (secretly) contracted to be the first concubine of the Heir to the Throne! It was only right and fair that as the coming true ruler of the country Tanaka Akira, son of Old Peddler Tanaka should have this innocent and unpierced pearl. Perhaps she would be able to breed some children better than the spoiled brats his previous wives had produced.

It was April 11th, 8:22 PM in Japan where Ito Masahiko left the room with the weeping woman and went to clean up before his meeting with Tanaka Akira, the owner of the vast estate he was currently using as his refuge. Weaklings would say he was a traitor, betraying his fellow emergents for advancement and money from a peasant. They were fools; he was just using the old peasant to get in a position to take the leadership among the Children that he deserved as the strongest and most cunning. The old men running things with their little cautious plans would be put in their place, mostly in their graves. Once he had the rule of the Children of the Fire in his hand he would impose discipline and obedience. Then Tanaka, with his money and guns and lawyers would be discarded, the alliances with the foreigners would be thrown out, and the nation would be put back on its true path to glory and honor. Then the Five Directions would all be put under one Roof.

Kato Daisuke, Assistant Director of the Tokyo Central Police Detective's Bureau and unofficial Minister of Foreign Affairs for the Children of the Fire, whetted a knife, using the action like a calming mantra. He had set things in motion, now they would have to play out. There were those that argued for acceptance of the inevitable. He had always despised a crooked cop more than an honest crook, betrayers deserved only destruction. Over the next week or so he would see if the relationships he had built up carefully over the past three decades would bring the results he desired. If not, he had never considered himself either a saint or an immortal. It would be sad to leave his wife, though.

Kato Aimi stopped crying. He was gone; no reason any longer to pretend to be broken. One day he would forget to tie her to the bed after he was done with her. One day there would be a slip-up, she would wait. Mother always said a woman's power lies first in her patience. Mother always sounded so old-fashioned, but her advice was always worth thinking upon. His giant sword wasn't very useful to her, try to remember, does he also carry a wakazashi, a short one like a proper samurai should? There was a vase on a stand in the corner, broken it should have sharp fragments. A woman's power lies first in her patience.

Miura Chuko bowed respectfully to the fire, rose and backed away. She was thinking about what she had seen there. Not _the_ future, but _a _future, several in fact. She had seen the Dog, she knew who he was. She had seen the Ogre, that one was obvious too. The Spider was new to her, but the rumors she had been hearing gave her at least an idea what was meant there. Why was the Lion also a Serpent though? Why was the Chrystal Gryphon trying to guard the Lion? For that matter, what was a Chrystal Gryphon? At least she had seen the Monkey in the flames; she knew she wouldn't be left out of whatever was to come. Studying the flames and schooling her mind for ten of her fourteen years had made her the best Seer for at least five centuries, but there was never any guarantee that a human could read the fire well enough to understand _the Main Chance_ soon enough to join it in time for a meaningful victory. She hoped that she wouldn't die before she was a woman; her older attendants spoke highly of it. It would also be impolite to not be able to honor The Arrangement.


	23. Chapter 23

I do not own, or receive and benefit from, the Harry Potter properties.

Note: In this chapter italics indicate Japanese.

Out of the West

Chapter 23-A little leaven.

Liz Green was certain that men had invented their own language just to annoy her. Currently, as she waited with Leo at LA International Airport to get their flight to Japan she was being forced to listen to her brother and Albert Fermi crosstalking about what was going to be coming off over the next few weeks. Oddly, she didn't realize that when Leo and she were talking together anyone around them (except Aaron, of course) wondered if they were picking words out at random from some huge dictionary.

"Will, Phil and the Menagerie. George if necessary. Quarantine abortion primary."

"Manning levels, local logistics?"

"Avoidance camel design imperative. He travels the fastest…"

"Boy Scout slogan?"

"Man plans, God laughs. We'll handle our component; Kato is a pro on his part."

"Personal elements obstruct clarity there. I like him well enough, but can you trust him?"

"If Leo trusts him why can't you?" Liz broke in: "What I can't see is why, if they have like two hundred plus agents over there, they can't handle this themselves without pulling a bunch of _gaikoujin mahotsukai _into it?"

"We're not _maho_… whatever. We're just a bunch of _gajin ekisupato._" Leo said consulting his bilingual dictionary. "Just a bunch of experts from out of town. You're going because you're the best, I'm going to keep all those horny Japanese guys from hitting on you, and Will is going 'cause Phil wants to meet some cute Japanese birds." Liz wouldn't have started punching him if he hadn't started mussing up her hair as he said that.

"Two hundred plus emergents, not agents. That means fifty in the active age with enough talent to really do something. Of those half at least aren't combat types at all, or have been kept out of the loop because they would fold at the first threat. And some of the remainder are spending their time closing their bank accounts and booking tickets to Singapore or Taiwan. They can't really count on numbers, the bozo they're up against has hired a bunch of yakuza… you know, gangster types… for armed security. So only the best will do, and Liz Green gets her first all expenses paid trip overseas." Leo finished with a hand flung out toward the flight status board that showed their plane would be boarding in ten minutes.

They traveled as Annette and Otto Hahn, still Americans but with different ages and backstorys. She had her laptop on but with the display off to save on power, in her hands. She entered the machine, absorbing the Japanese language program that she had loaded last night. For her it was just a warming up exercise, like a concert pianist limbering up her fingers. As much as anything else it was to keep herself from getting cramps from her nerves, soon she would be going to dive into a communications net larger than anything she had ever tried. Knowing the language would be helpful, but even though she knew that she was theoretically capable of doing that deep a dive in "Cyber land," doing it when people's lives were on the line was too scary to deal with. It helped that she had Leo there. Currently he was holding her hand, the one that wasn't providing the skin contact to the computer. That was nice. Of course she knew he would find some way to get himself into some hideously dangerous situation; that gave her something else to worry about, more of a distraction from her real problems than anything else. She knew he would somehow get out of whatever fix he was in. He would have to. If he didn't her world would fall apart, so he had to!

She was exhausted when they arrived at Narita Airport. There was no one at the terminal to meet them. Picking up their bags and getting onto the train into the city hub was confusing, with ten thousand too bright lights flashing and a million voices all talking too fast to understand going on around them. Even though she was the one who really knew the language it somehow was Leo who managed to navigate them to the non-descript building off of a major shopping district where Kato Daisuke waited with three other middle aged men for them. She could see that only Kato really knew what she was capable of, the others acted either that her presence was an insult, or that she was a child to be given a piece of candy and ignored.

Leo was polite, bowing the right degree to each man, saying in a horribly mangled way the proper greetings, and inquiring about Mr. Kato's family with a note of real concern in his voice. When chairs were pulled up around a table with an overhead set of small spotlights pointing down. One of the men tried to regulate her to a seat in a corner of the room Leo just stood there, looking with perfectly emotionless eyes, until the man mumbled an apology and brought her seat back to the table. Kato just developed the slightest of grins.

It was the strangest version of a council of war she had ever seen or heard about. Kato was trying to finalize plans (Liz doing translations duties for Leo) for an assault on some sort of a big estate that would capture the men behind the problem. Leo was backing him up, saying that they could cut off the place from all outside communications using her talents. Two of the others were dithering about prolonging negotiations with the Industrialist who was holding them hostage with the anti-psi neuro- gas his scientists had discovered, and one seemed to be looking for an exit.

Finally Leo turned to her and whispered: "Sorry sis, ya gotta show them total commitment. Do the show."

She hated doing this; they had discussed it, but had hoped it wouldn't be necessary. Using his Teek Leo turned out all of the lights in the overhead fixture that weren't right above her. Mr. Kato pulled out a pocket transistor radio and placed on the table. Liz set her face into a blank mask. Even though her Teek wasn't strong her ability to focus it, at least at close range, was in the superior range. She used it like a razor, and slowly cut off her long, dark, brown hair. As she did so she reached out with her ETeek, electronic psychokinetics, and spoke out through the speaker of the small radio: "_I dedicate_ _myself to this struggle. I put my childhood behind me, I will seal them in, I will cut them off. This battle will happen; together we will make it a victory!" _

Those wavering stood up, and stiffly bowed. Her sacrifice shamed them (at least for the moment); her actions were those of pure and dedicated warrior. Coming from a pretty and slender girl only made them more impressive. Now the trick was to get things moving before second thoughts and considerations of self interest came up to confuse things.

For the next four days she slowly tested the waters, entering slowly into greater and greater parts of the Japanese electronic communications grid. She tested it; she played with it (causing endless complaints to pour in to Nippon Telegraph and Telephone), and she plotted out the nodes and switching points that would have to be grabbed to make sure that both landlines and mobile units were under her control. She began to dabble in intercepting message packets from communications satellites, and then began to use commercial mapping satellites to locate things on the surface. Each day she came out of her electronic immersion, electronic contacts glued to her bald scalp, a little more reluctant to leave the immense spreading of her mind.

The day before the big show she met that Japanese girl Leo had rescued last year. She was horrible! Too pretty for words (and Liz had had to shave off all of her hair!), she spoke English with an adorable accent. She could do the sort of things that only existed in ninja movies with lots of wire work, and still look cute doing them. Leo said that she was essential for the operation, and that he would have to carry her. The worst thing was that with all that, with everyone being insanely polite and respectful to her, the girl was still wasn't stuck up.

That night she went out (head in a scarf) with Leo and Will and George Oppenheim for a western style meal. Junk food really, just something to remind them of home. Even cheeseburgers didn't taste the same when they did them over there. Still it was something. Will looked lost without Phil on his shoulder. His fourteen year old son George (of the Jungle he liked to remind people) was trying to flirt with her (even though she had no hair!) and Leo who was practically vibrating in his eagerness to be in on an attack of a place crawling with armed gangsters and chemical sprays that canceled psi. Plus there was the renegade Psi who was at least a Teek 5 (if not a 6) working for the bad guys.

Everyone just kept on trying to act like a bunch of American tourists in Japan, too timid to try the local food or mingle with the local people. Considering the remarks she had overheard some of the local teen age boys make about her the not mingling part made a lot of sense!

At ten the next morning she lay back in a reclining chair. Twenty silver contacts were attached to her skull, each linked by a wire to a switchboard. There were duplicate lines leading out, and a spare power generator on call. She slowly let herself sink into a calm state, and started to project herself into the DataStream of greater Tokyo that surged around her. Then she concentrated herself at the relays and nodal points on the ground, and in orbit that everything would need to go through. She thought it was amusing that she was handling the most modern means of communications, while Will Oppenheim and George and were blocking the most basic means by directing five packs of mixed Rottweilers and Dobermans to cut off anyone trying to get out on foot. Will had also had Phil do advanced recon over the place. Now if that little princess bitch didn't foul things up everyone would be alright and she could get back to her campaign to get Leo together with Lucy Fermi. If not her, Rosalie Martin was a good candidate. Leo, of course, was too stubborn to see that, boys always were a little thick.

One of her eyes in orbit saw the truck stop at the entrance to the Tanaka estate. She saw the palanquin taken out. Saw little blobs, too small at that distance for image resolution, pick it up and carry down the mile long drive to the stand where the puppet master waited. There the human spider behind all the trouble was waiting for his bride/victim. The palanquin stopped, for two minutes or so nothing happened, then a flare soared into the air, and more slowly a blob of smoke appeared on the ground. Was it green, was it green? Green!

She sent out her hounds, the thousand prepared programs she had placed in the controlling computers of the network. They blocked every message from every mobile or landline phone on the grounds of the estate. They hunted for radio wave generation from the location, they reported back to her every attempt, a dozen in the first five minutes, then less and less as the small convoy of trucks roared down the driveway and discharged the Espers and the Normals who were trusted enough for the seizure of the place.

She had only a half hour or so before her strength began to falter, she had simple too much to do, she was spreading herself too thin. As her vital signs began to go bad the attendants gently unhooked her from her connections. Her pulse and respiration settled down, and a nurse gave her a sedative shot, and hooked her up to a saline drip.

The nurse was something of a romantic. She thought it was strange but right that two Magical Girls were leading the effort to protect her people. She hoped that the girl's hair would grow back; she would be so pretty with it.

Authors Note:

Gaikoujin mahotsukai-Foreign sorcerer. Gajin ekisupato-Experts from outside.


	24. Chapter 24

In this chapter _italics _indicate Japanese.

I do not own, or profit in any way, from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 24-Leaveneth the whole loaf.

With eight men carrying it, the large and ornate enclosed palanquin was no great deal to handle Leo thought as he carefully breathed in through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. Like the others he was dressed in traditional Japanese monkish garb, with his features obscured. The basket-shaped hat he wore concealed a plastic tank of compressed air, enough for the twenty minutes or so it would take the crew to carry the palanquin up the long drive. They passed through a gateway hissing as it sprayed them with the anti-psi gas, up to the receiving area by the grand front entrance. According to Tanaka Akira's demands Miura Chuko would there be handed over as hostage and, most probably, underage plaything. Leo doubted the Princess (as he tended to think of her) would be, powers blocked or not, much of a fun sex toy for the middle aged man. She wasn't a set of talents with a person attached like some emergents Leo knew. She was definitely a high grade person who just happened to enjoy powerful added abilities.

So Leo just carried his part of the weight, and breathed in through the tube, and exhaled in rhythm with the coordinated pacing of the team. They had spent most of yesterday getting their teamwork down right: keeping in step, having both emergents secretly on the team using the breathing gear, and how to quickly pull out the ceramic bladed (and therefore undetectable by metal detectors) knives hidden in the bamboo carrying poles. Of course Miura had her own tank of air, and had been practicing her own parts of the plan. Kato had been unhappy with the plan, but couldn't think of a better one in the time they had. He knew that she was the best one to pull it off, but he had hated to risk her. As an old cop he had been on too many delicate operations to not know how quickly things could go totally wrong. But he was too much the old professional not to put the best personnel for the job on the operation.

They were actually a bit faster, Leo noticed, doing the real thing than they had been in practice. Probably due to being keyed up. He didn't notice any more of the gas dispensers near the formal area nesting between the wings of the U shaped estate. It was three storied Western architecture, Leo noted, with a raised and covered entrance way as large as decent sized apartment in front of the double valve front doors. Tanaka sat on an elevated series of mats in front of the doors, flanked by a bunch of sunglass wearing guys in black suits, four on each side. Leo was less interested in their fashion sense than the fact that each one seemed to be holding some sort of shortish weapon with a longish magazine sticking out of it. So, if the gas was only effective if breathed in (as he had been briefed, but blindly believing everything you were told was dangerous) rather than skin contact, he'd have to do sixteen actions with his Teek at once. At the range he'd be at that would be a bastard. Of course if the gas did have effect from skin contact things were infinitely worse. A screaming charge with nothing but a largish cooking knife in his hand against a bunch of powerful weapons was excessively heroic in his opinion. He'd still try it, he just wasn't optimistic about the chances of success.

As he set the palanquin at the command of the chief bearer he looked down and tried to Teek a pebble lying in the driveway. Piece of cake! With that he reached out the twenty yards to the bodyguards flanking Tanaka and set up a point for push or grab on each of the weapons, some sort of submachine gun he noticed. Miura stepped out of the enclosure, holding her breath. She advanced to within ten yards of the front of the first step; fourteen yards from the little throne, and knelt like a good and submissive Japanese concubine to be should. Leo saw the toes of her slippers dig a little into the gravel drive. He was ready when she suddenly shot up in one movement and soared fifteen yards forward and two up, landing behind the older man. In mid air she had reached into her elaborate hairdo and pulled out a jade ornamental comb with tines five inches long, having landed she dug them slightly into Tanaka's throat, drawing little beads of blood.

As soon as she left the ground Leo Teek punched eight magazine release buttons, and pulled down on eight magazines of ammunition. Some of the faster reacting guards even had their guns up and tracking Miura as she reached her mid-trajectory, only to hear the sound of the magazines of their MP5s hitting the ground. Before they could go to any Plan B they might have the palanquin group completed their Plan A.

In front of Leo, Hayato Guro pulled at the end of the pole he had been lifting to carry the palanquin, pulling out a foot long broad blade on an eight inch handle. He ran hell for leather to the raised platform. He wasn't an emergent, but he was the third generation of his family to work at Miura's shrine and looked on her as somewhere between a favorite niece and smallish benign deity. He was totally committed, and before any of the Yakuza had a chance to gather their wits he was one step below them, on the right side, and ready to slice and dice anyone doing a sudden movement. Right side secured. Leo moved up at a sprint to give him support, flipping off the basket hat. Seeing men rushing at them, knives in hand, the Yakuza began to drop their currently useless submachine guns. Some started to reach for pistols concealed under their jackets, others for weapons hidden on their belts behind their backs.

The lead man on the left from the carrying crew was slower, or perhaps a little more nervous at leading a charge at superior numbers. Before he was close enough to give an adequate threat one of the guards had clawed a pistol out a shoulder holster and was chambering a round. Moving as fast as he was, and from the distance he was at Leo couldn't do a proper grab on the man, and just shot a handful of gravel from the ground at him, causing him to flinch and lose focus when a half dozen pieces of rock hit his chest and face.

The whole left side was slow. Leo Teeked a gun up into his hands, and then remembered to gather up a magazine. The magazine was shoved into the well, a round was chambered and the safety pushed off. Now, gun to shoulder, and point at targets. At this point he was about twenty feet from his target group, and the men from the left carrying side had finally come close enough to start to mess up his field of fire. Not that the guards on that side were doing calculation that the person aiming at them was really too close to be in the best firing position. The snarl on the foreigner's face lying along the stock of the submachine gun was frightening to the yakuza. They hoped that none of their comrades on other security posts tried to pull a rescue right now; it was obvious who would be the first to die if anything like that started.

Miura smiled from her position behind Tanaka, telling him in her small, clear voice what would happen if he tried anything to call in more protectors. She resisted the urge to gently stroke his neck with the comb. But it wasn't nice to tease. As she listened in to his thoughts each of his little gambits and tricks, secret little gadgets and hidden bolt holes were revealed to her as they came to his mind. She called out: "_Katsurou! Signal completion of this phase_!" She forgave Green not having given the command, it was obvious that some of their men had lacked sufficient enthusiasm, and the young man had to provide extra support on one flank.

Katsurou, one of the Park Rangers that she knew very well, went to the palanquin and felt under the padding inside to the find the box with the signaling flares. Carefully opening it he checked to make sure he had the right combination. Then he sent up a bright parachute flare to announce Stage one was complete, and set off the smoke grenades to let their green smoke signal the current status of the operation.

Inside the house, from an office window looking out onto the driveway and receiving porch a loyal employee turned to the phone and dialed out to the main office in Tokyo, it was time to tell them to release the files exposing the treacherous non-humans the Master had discovered and studied. All the speed-dial gave was an unending busy signal; digit-by-digit dialing did no better. Pulling a mobile phone off a charging stand brought no help; it couldn't seem to connect to anything. Perhaps one of the radio-telephone equipped cars in the garage?Miss Moriko ran out of the room and down the corridor leading toward the back of the house, and the garage. She didn't like going that way, it led past the portion of the place that had been given to the Oni, and she hoped she wouldn't meet him. Though he looked handsome something about the way he looked at women made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Not to mention the things that they said that he did, that she made sure never to inquire into.

Ito Masahiko, on the second story of the wing of the mansion that he had been given for his personal use, kept himself busy training the latest addition to his little stable. She was just beginning to bloom as a woman, and pretty enough to be made into a team mate for little Chuko when he got her. He realized he was taking out his frustrations at not being able to properly break in the little bitch, keeping the old peasant sweet for now meant letting him do the job. But soon that would change and the flower of Japanese womanhood would beg for his attention, beg for the pain he could give her, once she was trained. Soon he would have his own little priestess. It was good to be like a god.

Leo walked up the line of bodyguards, frisking them by Teek and pulling an interesting assortment of spare ammunition, pistols, knives and the odd explosive device from pockets, hidden holsters and odd little hiding places built into belts and jackets. He tucked a pistol into one of the full sleeves, and a more manageable sized knife into his belt. All the other weapons were either in the hands of raiding party or stacked over by the palanquin. The other emergent in the carrying party, a powerful Hier, was interrogating the guards and a collection of household and secretarial workers who had peeked to see what the holdup was with the ceremony and had been wise enough to follow directions when they noticed automatic weapons being pointed at them.

Leo motioned for one of his party to come with him, someone who not only knew English, but who had proven to be less than effective on the physical front; he wouldn't be much missed from the hostage holding party. Leo and his companion jogged around to the right as the first of the support pulled up in two unmarked Honda panel trucks. This was the fastest way toward the garage section of the estate. As they went down the side of the right wing of the building they saw two men in business suits run out of gardens off to the side, pursued by a pack of Rottweilers. Will was on the job.

As they came around the back of the mansion they saw that the double doors of the faux stable that served as a garage were open and a luxury car, a Lexus start to pull out. Leo threw the MP5 up to his shoulder, pointing it right at the front windshield. Did they make a bulletproof model? Evidently they didn't as the car jerked to a stop, followed by an attractive woman in her thirties shakily getting out. Leo shoved his companion toward her, telling him to immobilize her.

_"Get down on the ground."_

_ "Let me go, Mr. Tanaka can pay you a million to let me escape!"_

The man looked back at the foreigner. Was he one of those who could read minds? Best not to risk it: _"Just get down! You're lucky I'm here, that bastard is a stone killer." _He unclipped the long strap from her pocketbook and began to tie her up.

Leo noticed that the thorough way her arms were being tied behind her back was using an awful lot of strap. Trying to keep an eye on the house he walked over to the auto and cut out one of the seat belt straps and threw it to the other man. While he was there Leo checked out the garage, no one else seemed to be there. By the time he was done and went back out the woman was caught up in an elaborate web of bindings, looking like a candidate for an erotic video of a certain type. Leo idly wondered how much experience his companion must have to automatically do this type of job, and so quickly.

So, hold position or start clearing the house from this side? Leo realized it was probably smarter to hold off, but something said to him that momentum was better than wisdom right now. _"Sir, please. Guard here, shoot all not-us come out. Thank you." _ That was about as much Japanese Leo could remember that fit the situation, he turned and entered the main house. The man he left behind thought again of the situation, weighing the possibilities, then saw a pack of lean smooth skinned killing machines lope around corner, sniff the air, and continue on. Yesterday all of the people on the first in party had been "introduced" to the dogs. He knew they had his scent, creatures like that could track him; a million really wasn't enough for that kind of risk. Especially as he knew that any of the birds perched on the trees could be a spy for the Children. Besides, with everything going their way it made no sense to come in on the losing side. Right then, to confirm his judgment, a large black bird launched itself from a tree limb and sailed into an open window.

Leo worked his way methodically down the corridor. First he jammed the door at the bottom of the stairwell leading up to the second floor. Then he went from room to room, using Sie to check if anyone was waiting just inside on the other side of the door, then kicking it in and scanning it, gun at the ready. The second room he entered in assault mode he saw two women huddling together in a corner. They were wearing maid uniforms. He examined them calmly. The uniforms were properly put on, their hair was neat. It was unlikely they were ringers: _"Stay! Be safe!" _he barked out. There was the sound of gunfire coming from the front of the house. He'd really feel like an idiot if he caught some friendly fire right about now, he thought and went onto the next room.

It was locked, something unusual. He checked it remotely, then picked the lock and opened the door. The room inside had a nightstand with a vase with withered flowers, and a bed with a naked and bruised woman tied spread eagle to the head and footboards. The sheets were bloodstained. Oddly, she looked vaguely familiar. Oh, right, Ito had decided not to allow Kato's daughter to break off their engagement. He pulled out the knife and went over, bending down to cut free one of her arms. She looked up, nodded and reached her arm toward him. He put the knife in her hand and pivoted back toward the door. There was a lot more work to do. _"We talk later, Miss Aimi."_

_ "Yes, honored guest."_

Back out in the corridor two niftily dressed men were running toward the back of the house where the garage and escape. They had pistols in their hands and elegant shades on their eyes. They started to lift their guns up, realized how badly they were outmatched, looked at each other, and dropped their pistols. Leo Teeked them away, then remotely undid their ties and bound their arms behind their backs. Kicking open the door to an empty supply closet he motioned them forward with the barrel of his weapon. After they were inside he shut the door and jammed the lock. Not the most secure of jails, but it would do for a short while.

Leo heard the door from the second floor shatter. He turned to face that direction, but before he could get into a firing position Ito Masahiko flew out and smacked him with a powerful wave of Teek. Leo was knocked into the air and flew backward into a table in the corridor. The submachine gun was jerked out of his hands as he lay on the floor as Ito advanced, trying to draw his long sword. Leo was lying on his side, unable to move his legs. It should have been funny; Ito kept on trying to pull the sword out, and constantly kept on hitting the sides of the hallway. It was just that a knot of pain in the small of his back was too intense to allow any laughter, and Leo still couldn't feel his legs. He put his hands in the wide sleeves of his ceremonial robe, and smiled.

Ito had always known that foreigners were insane; the fool lying there smiling only confirmed it. Ito finally managed to find an angle that let the long Nodachi slide all the way out of its sheath. He would let the fool die by steel. Slowly of course, but still it would be sort of honorable, if Green didn't spoil it by too much crying and begging. It was only right, they had, briefly, been companions in battle. One must do things with the proper style, after all. He never looked behind him to see Kato Aimi's head poke out a doorway, then duck back in. He felt hot surges of power as he stood over the annoying foreigner. Finally he stood over the grinning fool, and looked up to make sure that there would be enough room for the cutting strokes.

_"First the arms, then the legs, and finally the head. Try to hold up like a man, if you can."_

Ito then realized that he had said that in Japanese, and the ignorant fool probably couldn't understand it; too bad for him, he'd be a corpse soon enough. In his satisfaction Ito paid no attention to the little noises that would have let him know that a naked woman had slowly limped up behind him. Weak from weeks of bondage, her slash with the knife wasn't deep enough to kill or cripple, but it stung like a hot wire on the flesh and he jerked his body around to confront the pain. As he moved Leo pulled the pistol out of his sleeve and began to empty the magazine at point blank range into Ito's body.

Fifteen bullets in six seconds, all on target. It can be done if the target is man sized and less than five feet away. Three of the bullets did a complete passage through his body, making bigger holes on the exit than the entrance. The others collapsed a lung, tore a kidney and pierced the large intestine and the liver numerous times.

When her arm had failed her, and her knife cut was too shallow, Kato Aimi almost cried. Ito was turning toward her, and she hoped that at least she had enraged him enough to kill her and end her torture. Then the rapid hammer sound of a pistol began and Ito's body began to jerk before he dropped to the ground.

The clean-up crew found Mr. Kato's kidnapped daughter, a sheet wrapped around her in the first floor corridor of the right wing of the mansion. She was awkwardly holding an MP5 submachine gun over the body of Leo Green, whose spine had been broken.

When she saw a litter being carried out of the house, Miura Chuko noticed it was followed by three young women, looking like something from a history book about the Romans, and then she understood; they were wrapped in sheets because they had been prisoners with nothing to cover themselves with. One of them carried a silver serving tray with something on it. After a second she recognized what it was Ito Masahiko's head. Miura thought that it looked far better this way than it had when his neck had been carrying it.

Miura wondered when Mr. Green would show up, as he had helped plan and execute a textbook worthy mission. Only three injuries that counted, and only four… no, five now that Ito was accounted for… and some severely bitten would-be escapees among the enemy. Then she recognized who was on the stretcher. _"Poor Mr. Green, we simply can't keep on meeting like this. People will start to say that you're only getting injured so that I'll have to get close to you." _ Her little joke made her feel better; she hoped that he wasn't in any pain.

As he was set down Leo motioned over one of the sub-leaders and asked for a briefing. He listened as carefully as he could with half of his mind trying to suppress the pain that was the only thing he could feel below his waist. The report was good, but they didn't know how things were at HQ. That was where Liz had been, where she had been risking herself. Leo started to go into a paranoid cycle of worry about her being in a coma, unable to come out to the real world again. Kato Aimi came over and brushed some hair off of his forehead. He smiled up at her. He had a good idea of how bad things had been for her. That she had bounced back so quickly said a lot about who she was. She faked a smile back at him and walked off. He thought to himself, "We all are being strong for each other, while we're all broken inside." The Princess walked over after a brief talk with a newly arrived medic. With a gesture she gathered up several men and had them to tilt him up so that she could lay her hands on his back. Leo concentrated on not screaming as the pain hit a new height. He heard them gasp at something, and the agony slowly abated. They let him down on his back again. Miura was sitting in the dirt with a dazed look on her face, the pupils of her eyes tiny.

"This seems slightly familiar." Leo said to her. She gave a little start, as if she had been dozing and had just been awakened. Then she smiled and lay her head on his chest for a moment. Her head felt light, and her hair was perfumed. Then she gracefully rose to her feet, gave the bow that you are supposed to give to a friend or equal and moved off to rest in the shade for a moment before continuing doing telepathic questioning of the prisoners. The places where the formula of the psi suppressor had to be located, stocks of the gas destroyed, and Tanaka's ability to use his knowledge of the existence of the emergents had to be eliminated. Gathering up all of those that had to be rounded up was possible now that they had the man and his security codes in hand. What to do with all the people, as there were dozens at least, was a problem. Killing them all was a permanent solution, but not something anyone who was actually in charge wanted to do. Leo already had an idea on how to handle that.

As he was slid into the ambulance he thought he could almost feel his toes.

Four days later his hospital room was either about to explode from suppressed rage, or about to become the origin point for a comedy legend. Liz had been sitting in that chair next to the bed pretty much every moment since she had woken up. She was getting pretty soiled, and just a bit odorous. However, she had no intention of leaving until he was at least able to sit up and wiggle his toes. He found it endearing, except when he had to use the bedpan. The comedy part reached its fullest intensity at times, like now, when Miura came to add her healing touch to the wonders of modern medicine. Liz didn't mind when huge needles full of nerve growth stimulant and bone growth encouragers were painfully injected into him. She checked out the hospital staff's techniques and looked to be taking mental notes. But have a pretty girl stroke the bare skin of his lower back and all hell was in danger of breaking out.

When he was gently turned onto his side so that Miura could rub her (yes the glow was blue) healing touch over his back the fact that East or West hospital gowns were immodest became apparent, and when his skin was exposed on his back, other parts frequently were exposed also. Seeing how it affected Liz, Miura sometimes let her hands "slip" a little, resulting in outraged yells and insincere apologies. Enough sensation had returned to his lower regions that Leo had the feeling that if Miura let her hands wander any more freely he might have to get engaged to her to preserve his honor. The fact that Liz was the one who knew Japanese meant that she had to be both polite and the translator each day as Leo complimented Miura on her glowing looks, and she bubbled over on the wonders of each day. Having to come in to do her healing on him every day she had been able to convince her guardians that she should stay in Tokyo. And that meant that for the first time in her life she was spending lots of time away from a remote temple and her private tutors. Movies, plays, museums, game arcades, restaurants, zoos and aquariums all got her eager patronage as she ran her chaperones ragged. They appreciated the time she spent at the hospital healing (not only him) as a chance to get off of their feet and rest. She, on the other hand, recovered quickly from the strain of using her rare talent and had the eager energy of a just teenage girl. It didn't help Liz's disposition any when Miura, after a session of rubbing her hands over his back, and frequently his buttocks and maybe a bit more, would compliment him on his sightly build and make inquiries if his "virility" was doing well. He would reply that his recovery was progressing at full speed on all fronts, and catch Liz's crimson face out of the corner of his eye. She was trapped by their pact to never lie to each other, especially about serious things. Certainly his recovery was a serious thing, and while she might have an idea of what kind of things regular medicine might want to know she knew she was clueless about what a genuine priestess with a healing touch should be told.

The day before, Mr. Kato had come in, and had been given Leo's plan for avoiding a mass execution of all of Tanaka's researchers and higher executives who had been let in on the secret of psi, and its suppression. As soon as Leo was cleared to use a wheelchair they would try to locate Tokyo's magic community (and Leo knew that one of at least some size existed from his talks with Black) and hire a small team of Wizards able to Obliviate. Black's information, and close reading of the various books on wizardly mental powers had given Leo several ways to handle Normals, and with adequate backup Wizards as well. He knew that he had been able to stop a House-elf's talent for point-to-point travel, and that it was considered more powerful and harder to stop than a Wizard's Apparation. He'd ask Liz, after she had been given a chance to have a good night's sleep and a shower, if she'd like to come along.

Kato had also informed them that Tanaka's industrial and financial organization was being taken over (he was on the outs with his children and they didn't expect him to give them much anyway) to finance the Children of the Flame, and the Greens could expect a substantial bonus for their work and risks. The brother and sister knew that would be helpful, living in Massachusetts was a lot more expensive than New Mexico, and the house Mom had bought had more than eaten up everything they had got for the one they had sold in Los Alamos.

When Liz and Leo (using a walker) left Japan, in Mid-May of 1994 a large number of employees of Tanaka & Co. had suspicious holes in their memories, but were afraid to inquire too much lest their fitness for continued employment be questioned. Three Wizards, two Jade and one Tourmaline (apparently Oriental wizards preferred gemstones for their focus, each with its particular strength) were far wealthier than they knew how to explain. They had little incentive to violate the Wizard's Oath they had documentary evidence they had agreed to that specified they never look into their last bout of employment. Tanaka's two sons and his daughter had gotten ¥200,000,000 each as a legacy, more than they had ever figured they were going to get from the old pervert.

The Greens had no idea how active their coming summer would be.

Author's Note:

Chapter 22 has had some minor expansion to give a broader and deeper background on the situation in Japan.

Once again thanks to Nate for doing the beta reading, as well as for helping deal with problems in sending out the latest chapters.


	25. Chapter 25

I do not own, or receive any profits, from the Harry Potter Properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 25-Strands of Yarn

Sirius Black had been informed, in no uncertain terms, by the Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that for the good of his godson's peace of mind he should not enter into any communications with the boy. That the unpleasant reminders of the past must not be allowed to spoil Harry's carefree childhood. Since the boy had lived a cheerful and happy thirteen years without psychologically disturbed ex-prisoners in his life, it would be best if he continued to do so. As the three letters he sent to Harry over the next week got no response Sirius had to consider the possibility Dumbledore was, indeed, acting with the "agreement" and in the best interests (as he saw them) of the boy. On one of his occasional meetings (more of an extended dinner/booze up) with an acquaintance of his, a Mr. George Quiller, the idea of doing a test of this was proposed, Mr. Quiller being something of an expert in aiding, restricting and hiding communications.

Accordingly Sirius asked Julia Rosmerta, who owned a pub/inn in the village of Hogsmead to pass along a letter, with instructions on how to handle future communications if desired, to a student of Hogwarts, a Miss PP when she came into town during a regularly scheduled Hogsmead Weekend. She was bribed by a first class Indian dinner Portkeyed in from a first class restaurant of the type in London. Later that day, back in the school she passed on the letter to her sister, a Miss PP, who happened to be a member of the school House that Harry Potter belonged to. This young lady further conveyed the letter, when there were no prying eyes, active portraits or snoopy ghosts, to Mr. HP. Who had at first been both flustered and hopeful that the attractive Miss PP had design on his body. Perhaps, at another time that would be so, currently she was merely passing along a letter in hopes of getting in on the special dinners, and because the whole thing was so cool.

Harry read the letter in privacy, memorized certain instruction in it, and then destroyed it, discarding the ashes out of the window. He wrote a reply, passed it to a friend of his in his house, a Mr. NL, whose grandmother came to the school regularly to attend to her monthly duties as a member of the Hogwarts Board of Governors.

She, in turn, made it a point to meet with her grandson on the next occasion she was at the school, and insisting on a private place to conduct "family business", took the letter from Harry off of the school grounds and posted it from her home. Sirius had been a good friend of dear Frank, in the old days, and Augusta was also feeling guilty about the many hard thoughts she had had about Sirius, before the truth of his horrible ordeal came out. And, it was a chance to do Dumbledore one in the eye. She felt he often tried to be too clever by half.

By means such as this a Black/Potter correspondence sprang up with at least three or more exchanges a month between them, while the Headmaster had the satisfaction of believing that the two were completely out of communication. Everybody was happy, and isn't that the most important thing?

In the May 14th issue of the _Daily Prophet _there was a short notice on the forthcoming Black-Rosmerta nuptials, scheduled for the early part of July. Mr. Lucius Malfoy had the small article brought to his attention by his wife, Narcissa, who expressed regret at the great distance that had grown up between her cousin and her, and how nice it would be to heal the family breach, as well as giving Draco a chance to attend a no-holds-barred wedding between two of the oldest pure-blood families in Britain, perhaps all of Europe. Mr. Malfoy's concerns were of a slightly different nature, and he started certain inquiries to confirm an odd bit of gossip he had heard a month earlier. Upon confirmation of these rumors; Julia Rosmerta was pregnant and the father was undoubtedly Sirius Black, Mr. Malfoy began to contact some of his less savory of acquaintances and occasional employees. The vindication of Sirius Black had freed up the considerable Black monies and estates that had been under trusteeship during his imprisonment, waiting for his death. Upon which they would have passed to the closest member of the Black family still living, not imprisoned or cast out of the family; Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black. Now with the man free, a healthy thirtysomething, with a wife to be and a sprog on the way this happy resolution of events had become unlikely, unless someone of will and character did something about it. When the invitation came Mr. Malfoy discarded it unanswered, to his wife's confusion and dismay. She didn't know that there was not going to be a wedding, and Lucius wanted to avoid all the fuss and bother of getting new clothes and a wedding gift.

Sirius Black was involved in filling out his part of the wedding party. Remus was to be the Best Man, of course. They had had some awkward meetings over the last few months, but everything had been reconciled between them. Especially as a MFC had been listening in at one of them, and confirmed Remus' story that he had, in fact, tried to get in to see Sirius in Azkaban to ask him "why?" Being an official Dark Creature his attempts had been denied. Harry, of course, had been sealed off from the whole Wizarding world since that awful Halloween. Remus had not been any more able to get in touch with him than any of those that had tried over the years. After all, even when the boy was attending Hogwarts the mail that he had delivered to him was carefully screened and selected. If Remus had tried to get too close to the boy the Headmaster would have been alerted. As it was, only the curse on the DADA position had forced Dumbledore to give Remus a "One year only job, my boy. We must not risk your life against this horrid curse!"

Arthur and his brood were invited, of course. Harry would be a Groomsman, and his best friends had been asked. Andy and her family (now having been quietly put back officially into the Black Family), Augusta and her bunch (in memory of poor Frank and Alice), and as many as the old crew as survived. He had even, at Julia's urging, sent an invite to Narcissa and her family, thankfully it had never been answered and they wouldn't be included in the wards or guest list. And of course the Bulstrode's and Yaxley's would have to be asked.

When Otto's birthday gift to Walburga came (a gilt and cream horror of a statuette of a shepherd and maiden in full mid-Victorian excess, which the portrait loved) Sirius knew that at least one of the MFC would have to be invited. He would be in England anyway, during the right period. Over a decent steak dinner at Quiller's place it had been mentioned that he would be accompanying his sister "for her operation". Evidently the best surgeon in the world for that type of thing worked at a Muggle hospital in London, imagine that! It had been a bit disturbing when right afterwards Quiller had remarked that Hahn would probably be walking again by then. What had that boy been up to?

Leo Green was undergoing extensive physical therapy. Miura's Healing had repaired him, in many ways, better than new. But nerve paths had been broken, and before he could be properly healed he would have to reestablish the needed synapses, and retrain muscles after weeks of non-use. What was worrying him, though he tried not to show it, was Liz's decision to get permanent cranial implants. They would allow direct connection with any properly set up computer, even better than direct contact to the outside of her skull. And she could then grow her hair back. Which Leo admitted was an important consideration, but her having twenty holes drilled through her skull, with micro-cables connecting them to the proper parts of her brain had an "ick factor" quotient he couldn't quite subdue. He liked that it would improve her abilities fifteen or twenty percent. He didn't like having to trust the assurances that it was perfectly safe, no weakening of the bone structure, couldn't give her any problems either physically or electronically. Being considered an expert in his own little field Leo was a little suspicious of experts in general. But it had been _her _decision, and he'd back her to the hilt.

Liz Green was terribly excited. They'd be moving to Massachusetts in early June, then two weeks later Leo and she would be going to England for her operation and a chance to practice on the Oxford supercomputer that the local AGER agents had access to. Leo would be doing some security work there, and as the most willing to penetrate Magic society (the reports from Britain called him "bloody crazy") he'd probably be used in setting up contacts and surveillance networks there. Best of all, with a proper set of contacts in, not only would she be able to dive into them DataStream better, but when she grow her hair back, they wouldn't be noticeable at all! Add in that British boys had the cutest accents and this would be the best summer ever!

Arthur and Molly Weasley had no trouble answering their wedding invitation in the affirmative. The twins, Ginny and Ron could all go, and Bill would be in-country. Getting a suitable gift was a little stretch, but Arthur had been lucky at the Office pools lately, and one way or another they always managed. Percy had already told them that being so new at his job he felt he had to be available at the Ministry, even on the weekends. They didn't know that weekends in the Ministry was about the only time and place he could have completely uninterruptable private time with Penny. Very private time.

Dr. Roland Arnoldson Jones, of the Royal Hospital for Neuro-disability, did not at all look forward to the June 21st operation on the Yank bint. If those damn blackmailers didn't have him by the short and curlies he would have told them where to get off. It was true that there weren't a dozen men (his opinion of female doctors, much less surgeons, was completely unprintable) in the world who could pull off what they were proposing half as well as he could. But putting in hardware to a young girl's head, when there was no medical reason to, was plain irresponsible. Doing it gratis was almost physically painful. But there were the photos, the receipts and tape recordings and too damn much evidence that he had been diddling the books of his department, the student nurses, and the cabinet for narcotic medicines. He might be a bit of a lowlife, but if he was going to do a surgery he was going to do a good one, if he gave up that he couldn't have stood himself. So he studied the x-rays, various scans and general health data that he had been given. If he was going to mess with the insides of someone's head he would make sure it was going to be working better when he left it then it had when he went in. He did wonder why he was supposed to rig up a brain like a telephone switchboard. No doubt some bloody fascist government secret project, the men who had presented him with the incriminating evidence had definitely looked like the government thug type, down to the bulge of their guns in their shoulder holsters.

George Quiller was a happy man, newly made a member of the AGER Executive Council, a bank account healthy enough to pay for alimony and child support, and a little black book filled with useful numbers. His brother (non-emergent) was back from some Queen's business in the Middle East and they would get a chance to raise a little hell over the summer. The arrangements for Liz Green's operation (she'd be going in as Annette Hahn) were complete, and Leo (Otto for the summer) would be around to handle the weird stuff with his usual aplomb. George Quiller looked forward to a peaceful summer, with a bit of fun.


	26. Chapter 26

I do not own, or receive any monies, from the Harry Potter Properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 26-Best Summer Ever

By June 18th Liz Green was slowly coming to grips with living under false pretences. Being called, and carrying the identification of, Annette Hahn was awkward in all the little ways you might expect. Answering when your cover name came up in a conversation, not spilling your (or someone else's) true name when talking casually, filling in the dozens of paper things (from custom's forms to credit card slips) that a traveler had to deal with in this over-documented age. So far there had been no irretrievable slipups; at least none Leo hadn't been able to wisk away with his doubletalk and ability to create distractions. Afterwards he _had_ been a little impatient with her, in the traditional Big Brother sort of way. But now they were settling in, and had almost a week to unwind before the operation.

The big old house was surprisingly near to the city, considering the size of the plot it stood on. It was one of AGER's safe houses, currently not being used for anything special, and Leo had been here before and knew the area. There were just the two of them rattling around in a place that could easily hold a dozen. The good part was Leo was willing to pitch in with the cleaning and cooking; the bad part was he spent at least four hours a day training her in martial arts, Teek control, Occlumency, German, and spy craft. Sometimes he had her train and test him on ETeek, which gave her a measure of revenge. Since her effort in Japan she had found her ability to slide out of the material world into the electronic one even easier, and the thought of doing so even more attractive. Poor Leo was more behind her now than ever. Of course, if he had shown a little envy and resentment it would have made things a bit sweeter. But still, being on assignment meant that he couldn't be drafted for one of the stupid adventures where she couldn't keep her eye on him. This time _he_ would be the one taking care of the poor invalid, and have to be supportive and helpful. In fact, he'd also be her driver until she went to the hospital. They'd already had a preliminary visit with the surgeon, and that man was a grumpy bear and a scary fellow. She definitely didn't want to be alone with that fellow without a chaperone.

England itself was proving a blast though. Leo had taken her to some dance clubs and had stayed out of her way, mostly. The two drink minimum most places had was officially her two drink maximum, and Big Brother hadn't tried to keep any of the boys away; some of them had even thought her shaved scalp as "freaky-sexy." That hadn't stopped her from wearing a scarf or hat though. The one time someone had been getting fresher than she had wanted Leo had cut the guy out so smoothly that the guy was still trying to undo her bra before he realized she was gone. Aside from that everything was going smooth, and being someone else than plain vanilla Liz Green was like being at a wonderful costume party.

Leo was exhausted. What with catching up on class work, getting back in shape and making sure that Liz was entertained (a bored genius is a dangerous one he'd always thought) he felt that he could use a vacation. Quiller had passed Black's wedding invitation on to him; he'd go if Liz was recovered enough by then to go also. He'd have to get back to Black about that. Today he figured he'd take Liz in to the city for some pawnshop (he'd always found them more interesting and affordable than antique shops) and flea market shopping. He thought he deserved some reward for the days he'd spent driving her around and going in with her at various "fashionable" clothing and shoe stores. Not that they could buy that much, but the agony of having to give opinions on a dozen different dresses that all looked much the same to him needed to be dealt with somehow. Right now he was looking for a good sheath knife and something in a leather bracelet with metal studs, something practical.

That afternoon Lucius Malfoy left his meeting with Simon Milton (a half-blood, but one must use the tools one has) happy in regard to settling the details of the Black succession. The plan was set, and most of the team recruited. Rosmerta stayed with Black at his townhouse during the weekends, that was the time to get both at once. The floo connection would be cut, and anti-apparition wards established, then a team of five would come in through the garden, one with a broom to go directly in through an upper floor. Three would come in through the front, having the larger group out front might attract too much attention too soon. The strike would only go in when there was confirmation that Black and Rosmerta were there, other casualties were incidental.

Milton was the only direct connection to Malfoy. For a significant bonus he had agreed to take a Wizard's Oath not to mention who had hired them, or why the attack was to take place. Lucius felt that agreements like this proved his essential reasonableness; he could deal with half-bloods in a businesslike, even generous fashion, as long as they knew their place. Now he had to make sure to arrange that on Saturday, June 21st he would be publically somewhere else, preferably in some philanthropic situation. Still, he had to do things like that anyway, and this way Narcissa wouldn't be moaning about missing a family function.

Harry Potter crossed off another day on the calendar hanging on the door of his upstairs room at 4 Privet Drive. Twenty-eight more days to go and he would be done here for the year. He had promised the Headmaster not to leave the place (except for normal, day-to-day sort of things) until he had spent a month at his "home." In return there would be no blocks put on his getting mail or communicating with his friends. Harry expected June to be dull, bad enough that he'd probably do as Hermione was always nagging him to, and read all of next year's texts. When the third week in July came things would certainly improve. He'd already accepted the offer to stay at the Burrow, and then there was Sirius's wedding.

Harry wondered what Dumbledore would say when he saw Harry in an official position at the wedding of someone he wasn't supposed to even be talking to. Then again, how things seemed to be shaping up there was a fair chance that Dumbledore wasn't even invited, and would learn about it only if he read the Society pages of the _Prophet_. Or if he subscribed to the _Quibbler_. Lovegood had managed to use her highly favorable first interview with Black as a successful argument that she should get Press credentials to cover the wedding. Black found the girl vastly amusing, and everyone had to admit she wrote well and honestly on things as she understood them.

All things considered this had been a good year. Except for a brush or two with Dementors things had gone well. No wizardly attempts to kill him, Malfoy had been shown up to most of the school as a comic prat, and he'd gotten a (sort of) relative. He didn't really believe all the warnings the Headmaster had given him about Black were fair. The letters they had exchanged didn't show someone unstable and on the brink of mental collapse. That didn't mean that he would be moving in with him. After all, after the wedding there would be the honeymoon, and by the time that was over it would practically be time to go back to Hogwarts anyway. Still, Harry figured that he would be getting enough time to talk face-to-face with the man and get a better idea of how to deal with him. The whole smuggled mail thing had been great; Neville had been the most cheerful Harry had ever seen him. Being a part of a secret courier service had really boosted his confidence.

Mind you, Black might be a few knuts shy of a sickle. He really seemed to believe there was this "Men from Cathay" cult, and they had odd and mystic powers. Still, for a wizard the wasn't the oddest belief to have, and at least Black didn't seem all worried and paranoid about it.

Draco Malfoy stumbled off of his Nimbus 2001 as the sun's slanting rays created huge, dark shadows. He was putting in at least two hours every day in Quidditch practice; Potter would not beat him out for the Cup this year. Every stiff muscle and aching joint would be worth it when his practice enabled him to beat the half-blood to the snitch and bring the Cup home for the Snakes! With an hour of dueling practice in the morning, potions work after lunch, genealogy and social graces training under Mother, Draco had a full day lined up every day until school started again.

Father didn't understand that just being a Malfoy didn't automatically make you a leader these days, not even in the House. You had to show them you could do things. Mudblood Granger got respect for being so bloody smart, Potter did his escapades and flew like a berserk angel. Lovegood had half the school asking her what would be in her next column; even Longbottom had upperclassman come to respectfully ask about Herbology questions.

Father expected so much, and accepted no excuses. Draco was going to spend every minute this summer preparing to finally have Father's smile shine on him. He knew that if he wasn't useful to Father he would be left out in the lonely dark, like Mother. Oh, Draco loved her alright, but he knew that she was just an ornament for Father, brought out when needed for social occasions, ultimately disposable. Draco would not allow that to happen to him.

On the morning of June 21st Draco spent an hour and a half working on his Brain Elixir before going to lunch and continuing on his self-organized training schedule. Narcissa Malfoy hosted a tea for the Daughters of Merlin Association, membership requirements including both pure blood and a traceable family history of at least 500 years. Lucius Malfoy spent the morning at his solicitors' office; in the afternoon he attended a meeting with the purpose of setting up a Wizarding Orphanage. Other attendees included Albus Dumbledore and Tiberius Ogden of the Wizengamot.

At 7:35 AM on that morning Dr. Ronald Arnoldson Jones performed an operation (that he thought unnecessary) of extreme delicacy on Miss Annette Hahn. Whatever his shortcomings as a human being, Dr. Jones was actually as good a surgeon as he thought he was. As the patient was, in fact, completely healthy to begin with, there were no complications under his skilled hands and with his well trained surgical team. At 10:24 AM the doctor was able to come out and inform Miss Hahn's nervous brother that all had gone well, and that she would be coming out of the anesthesia within the hour.

When Liz Green came to, at 11:52 AM the first thing she saw was her brother by her bed holding a plastic cup of water with a bendy straw in it. He had spent too much time in the hospital not to know the first thing you need after coming out from anesthesia. He stayed with her until visiting hours for the ward were finished at 2:30 PM, then said that he would be by for visiting hours again tomorrow, and was going over now to the Black place and have tea with Walburga Black, and to discuss some things with Sirius Black. Liz said that she was sleepy anyway, and that if she woke up before the morning she would probably just spend the time exploring the hospital. They both knew that she planned on doing it without getting out of bed. After all, being on a set of monitors meant that wherever their signals could go (and a lot of places they couldn't) she would be able to poke and pry.

Having parked the auto he was using a block and a half away from 12 Grimmauld Place (just on general principles, as there was a clear space right by the front door) Leo was let in by Kreacher at 3:20 PM. Both Sirius Black and Julia Rosmerta made him comfortable at once. They were relieved to hear that his sister was doing well. Sirius was secretly immensely curious to meet the girl; a female Hahn was a fascinating concept. Unfortunately he had business at Gringotts first, and then his solicitor.

At 3:30 PM a band of wizards arrived at the head of Grimmauld Place, and separated into a group of five, heading toward the back alley and the rear of the house, and a group of three, who under Notice Me Not charms began to do their work out front.

Sirius Black left by floo at 3:58 PM to conduct his business with the bank and his solicitor, three minutes before the floo connection was temporarily blocked, and a quiet assault on the basic protective wards of the house began. The attack was both effective and subtle enough that the House Elf did not detect the change. At 4:11 PM Simon Milton placed the quartz crystal that he was using as the ward stone to block the house's floo connection into his pocket, and shot up a powerful Lumos spell over 12 Grimmauld Place to inform his subordinates that it was time to get moving.

A few moments after Sirius Black left on his business. Miss Rosmerta said that she wouldn't keep Otto any longer from his rendezvous, and retired to an upstairs bedroom to rest until Sirius came back. The visitor went through the house to the newly built greenhouse and made his courtesies to Walburga Black's portrait, and accepted an invitation that he stay a while, chat, and have some tea. He sat in a sturdy tall backed wicker chair facing the portrait that hung on the wall. He placed several cushions against the back the back of the chair so as to give himself extra support to relieve the ache of his still tender lower spine. In a few moments Kreacher came out with a tray holding the tea fixings, as well as some fresh made muffins. It was 4:11 PM.

At 4:11 PM William Grant, leader of the back door team, saw the signal to go appear over the house. As they burst through the garden gate they saw Black was sitting in a chair in the greenhouse, a perfect target. He called out: "Bludgeoning spells now!" The three quickest of his group joined him in sending their strongest spells at the greenhouse. Counting his, two of the spells hit the building, the others gouged out great clumps of dirt and dust from the lawn and from some building supplies left near the glass walls. The spells that did hit the greenhouse sent hundreds of shards of razor sharp glass hurtling into the structure. The ones that missed kicked up a huge cloud of cement dust, obscuring the back of the main building. One of the raiders jumped onto his broom and approached a second story window while the others moved towards the dust cloud, the rear door to the house was somewhere inside it. The raider in the lead was detailed to make sure of Black; the others would enter the house and assist the assault. They lagged behind a little, hoping that the dust would settle enough that they wouldn't stumble around among the remains of broken furniture and jagged pieces of glass.

At 4:11 PM Julie Rosmerta was startled from a light doze by the sound like an explosion and a sound like dozens of glasses shattering on the floor. As the owner, and frequent bartender, of the Three Broomsticks she knew that a sound like that meant there was a mess somewhere that needed cleaning up. Kreacher was a dear, but sometimes a House Elf just wasn't enough for a domestic emergency. She grabbed her wand off the night table and moved toward the door. The light coming in through the window was suddenly cut out, she turned and saw a man dismounting from a broomstick and clambering in through the window. She had enough experience breaking up bar room brawls to have kept her reflexes from DADA sharp. Before the intruder had a chance to brace himself and cast a spell she shot out a Stunner, hitting him squarely and knocking him back outside. She ran to the window to see what had happened to him, and saw his form lying awkwardly on the lawn twenty feet below. She saw over to the side there was an immense cloud of dust down below where the greenhouse had been. Then she heard the front door blown in.


	27. Chapter 27

I do not own, or receive any profits from, the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 27-Casa de Bellorum

He hurt. Leo hurt all over, but especially his head and his back. He was lying belly down on a flagstone paved floor and everything beyond three or four feet was blurry with a thick dust cloud. He looked at his right arm, stretched in front of him. The sleeve of his jacket was shredded, and he could see deep cuts in his skin. There were a few pieces of glass stuck in the arm, which Leo Teeked out. That reminded him of something. He began to use his Sie on the back of his head, and then down his back, checking for large pieces that might still be stuck in him. There were a few, mainly in his back, and he gently Teeked them out of his flesh. He wondered if that was wise, maybe it would only cause more bleeding. He wondered how long he had been unconscious. Someone gave the answer to that when he heard: "The bitch took down Arty! Mike, make sure of Black and then follow us in! Remember, no time to frisk him down, we're on a schedule!" Now Leo knew he hadn't been out for very long.

Leo got up onto his hands and knees, and began to scan through the dust with Sie. He used Teek to grab onto four of the largest of the pointed pieces of broken windowpane. He let out a groan, nice and loud. Good, Mike wasn't deaf. Leo could hear him jangling through the glass littering the floor as he approached.

Visibility was about five feet now; still, Leo's ability to Sie meant that he knew where Mike was before his form emerged from obscurity. Mike was holding his wand at the ready, looking for someone standing up; he didn't notice a figure down near the ground among the broken pots and things. Before that situation changed Leo moved the glass shards at Mike's uncovered face and neck, and started them slashing. This type of attack was really only practical at point-blank range, but it worked well enough right then. The man tried to bring his hands up to protect his face. That just meant they were being cut also. The wand and a few fingers fell to the ground, and Mike was screaming. At least until the parts he needed to scream with were either cut or simply removed. Then he dropped and bled. Leo checked him: one down.

Leo stirred up the dust with Teek, right now low visibility was his friend. Mike had been noisy; he'd probably have some friends coming soon. Having come on a purely social call Leo only had his Swiss Army knife, not even the nice Buck hunting blade or the bracelet with all the metal studs he'd gotten the other day. A two-inch knife blade was hardly heavy metal; this would be messy. Then he looked at Mike in his pool of blood (he had stopped moaning and twitching by now) and amended that to 'messier.'

He took out the knife anyway and opened the largest blade, holding it by Teek a few feet off to his left, and looked around with Sie for some good glass shards. The ones he had used before had pretty much broken on Mike's facial and hand bones. Counting the knife he found that if he tried to keep the dust cloud up he could only handle two shards properly. Probably he had a mild concussion he thought, control always went before strength.

A colored blob went whizzing past him, a bit over his head. Leo decided to stay on his hands as knees for a little while longer. He even knew what the spells were, the wizard casting them was helpfully yelling, "Stupefy" with each one. Leo edged closer to the sounds. It was so much easier when they pointed themselves out for you.

Leo heard the door into the house get blown off its hinges, and the sound of people running up the steps into the corridor. Leo was able to spot the one they were leaving as rear guard standing at the side of the steps and twitching his head back and forth. Leo Teeked up a cloud of debris off to the side, and bashed something so it fell over with a clank. The guard pivoted and began to cast spells, Leo thought the man was probably sending something a bit more authoritative than sleep spells.

As the wizard was now properly distracted Leo felt it was time to eliminate him. Leo got his legs under him and leaped at the man's back. Before the guard could respond to anything Leo had his right arm around his throat, left pistoning short, hard punches into the kidneys. By the fourth the man's legs gave out and he'd become dead weight. Leo let him fall, then knelt on his back and began to ram his head into the flagstones a few times. As the man didn't even groan Leo figured he was out for the count, and stood up, taking the wizard's wand and then throwing it deep into the broken mess of the greenhouse.

Leo had lost control of his Teek controlled objects when he attacked, now he picked up his knife, closed it and put it in his pocket. There would be better tools inside the house. He was hearing the sounds of combat from inside. Rosmerta must still be up and about, the attackers probably wouldn't expect any trouble from the garden direction.

Three steps into the corridor was the door down to the kitchen. Leo went in quickly and opened a drawer and grabbed a double handful of steak and carving knives. He Teeked open a cupboard and ripped open a bag of flour, keeping the stuff in a ball with Teek as he went back up the stairs to the main corridor. There, at the end near the front door, was a bunch of men shooting spells up the main staircase, with an occasional one coming back down at them. One of the men was edging his way under the landing where the return fire was being sent from, looking for a place to destroy the floor under the defender. Looking up he didn't notice Leo until he was six feet away, when five knives were Teeked at him in rapid succession with all the force Leo had available. Only numbers one and three actually hit, each with a force equal to about two hundred foot pounds. The man dropped at that point, yelling. Two of his friends looked over, distracted enough that one didn't think to dodge the spell that came down and broke his collarbone. Before the other could get a spell off Leo Teeked the floating ball of flour into a thick cloud and sent it down the hallway toward the wizards. He was still almost ignited by the spell that was shot off blindly into the airborne mess. It missed everything but the wall and started a small fire behind him.

Leo stooped down out of the line of fire and checked out the man he had stabbed. When he had fallen forward he had driven the knives further into his body, the tips of both of them had now showed as little tent poles beneath his robe. That made three taken care of.

Leo scooted forward as close to the floor as he could. He was glad that he still had a handful of sharp things with him. He made a mental note that in the future he would exercise his Constitutional right to be dangerously over equipped with firearms at all times. For instance, right now a pump action shotgun would be nice. He collided with one of the wizards who had thought to use the flour cloud as cover for a close range assault. They both fell in a tangle onto the ground.

Leo didn't even notice as some of the remaining glass pieces were driven deeper into his flesh, it was all grappling and grabbing and making sure that the damn magic wand wasn't pointed at him. He felt something sharp stabbed into his side just as his hands found the wizard's throat. Using his hands as a guide Leo put a narrow band of Teek around the man's throat, and squeezed, adding his physical strength to the compression. Things went 'crunch' inside the man's neck, and he went limp.

Leo rolled off the corpse. The cloud of flour was dispersing now. Up ahead there was a wizard holding his shoulder, a dropped wand at his feet. Another was trading spells with someone at the top of the stairs; a third crouched down behind a small upturned table. Leo Teeked the wand away from the injured man and staggered forward with a carving knife he had picked up in his hand. The man started to yell out that he surrendered. The wizard still giving battle took a quick look and shoved his hand into his robe. Leo decided to distract him from whatever he was planning, and did a Teek grab and managed to get the man's head. Then, for just a second Leo felt as if he was being sucked into a vacuum. He grabbed onto one of the steps of the stairway on his left to anchor himself. The man disappeared. Leo stumbled when his Teek suddenly held nothing but air, and bounced against the stairs. The sharp stick in his side was driven in a little deeper.

The remaining wizard saw the situation and pivoted, crawling toward the hole where the front door had been. A Stupefy got him right between the shoulders.

Leo moved forward to the head of the stairs, motioning the captive to go in front of him, and called out: "**Friend **here! Nobody but prisoners and a **Friend **here! Nobody to be angry at, just a **Friend **here!"

Julia Rosmerta moved away from the spot she had thrown her last spell from and looked quickly over the edge of the landing. There was a body lying face down near the door; that was the last one she had cast a spell at. There was a man leaning against a wall in a defeated manner, holding his shoulder. And there was someone covered in white powder except where sweat had cleaned his face holding a large knife and smiling in a friendly manner.

He called up: "Could you get a bandage or something, please. I seem to have a wand in me."

That was plain ridiculous; one could only have a wand on oneself, and in any case he had an 11" Carver, as one of the people who cooked at her Inn she could easily identify it, in his hand. Then she looked again and noticed he was right, there _was _a wand stuck in his left side. She jumped to her feet and ran to get first aid potions and bandages.

"You know what I should do, don't you?" Leo said the injured man. He gave a fearful little nod.

"But I'm one of the good guys." Leo continued. The prisoner shone a timorous but hopeful grin.

"So when the authorities come, if you are very, very, cooperative with them I won't hunt you down and skin you alive."

The man nodded vigorously, he had every intention of being cooperative. He wasn't sure if the threat was serious or not, but at this point there was no reason not to curry what favor with the Aurors that he could. When Milton had turned tail and abandoned him all the 'honor among thieves' and 'code of silence' stuff went out the window as far as he was concerned. Now it was 'every man for himself' and hope for as short a stay in Azkaban as possible. Plus the young man was smiling at him pleasantly as he said that. People who held big knives and said things like that in a cheerful voice were always a bit unnerving.

Leo was slowly calming himself down, getting centered. He didn't want to be doing anything rash or thoughtless. Soon this place would be swarming with Wizarding cops, and he needed some time to get his story straight. He couldn't just bug out; Rosmerta may have been doing pretty well, still she had to be tired by now and vulnerable. As long as he handled things _that _way, and made sure to phrase things just like _that _Leo realized he could keep control of the narrative. Now he just had to get someone else to visit Liz tomorrow morning, he was sure that he just wouldn't be up to it.

When Rosmerta ran down the stairs, her hands full of bandages and the pockets of her robe full of potions (only the best, she had been brewing them herself for years) she finally got a glimpse of Hahn's back. She gagged a little. It was a mass of blood, with glittering shards of glass still imbedded in some of the gouges. Well, he was still standing and moving she thought to herself, they must just be superficial. Lots and lots of them, but superficial, and blood comes out from hardwood floors with the right spell anyway, and… "Kreacher! Get in here this minute!"

"He had been out in the greenhouse serving tea when it blew up, now that I think of it. I think he may be injured. Could you watch our friend? I'll go and check on him."

"I am _so_ forgetting my manners! Stupefy! Now you just drink this up and let me take that wand out and I'll go and check up on him, right?"

She was definitely using a Nurse In Charge tone of voice with him, Leo noticed. As she dropped the prisoner with a well placed spell he mentally shrugged. She certainly seemed to be a bit clearer headed than he was at the moment, probably best to just let her take charge. Preggers as she was, she was still moving better than he was right now.

He took the potions she handed him, palmed the calming potion and the pain killer, and knocked back the blood replenisher and healing ones. He didn't need anything that would mess with his mind right now. Pain he could deal with, even use if he had to.

Rosmerta didn't notice exactly what Leo was doing as she gingerly reached down and grabbed the wand, and pulled it out. Three inches of bloody wood came out before the jagged tip left his body. She poured in a mixture prepared to prevent infection and speed healing, then slapped on a self sticking bandage dosed with a blood clotting ointment.

"There, the worst is done now. I'll just go and check out about things now! Don't wander off; I might be needing some help after all."

With that she slipped off, but instead of going out back she opened the door to the Study, where a fire was always going and the fireplace was connected to the Floo Network. She ran to the fireplace and grabbed a handful of powder from the jar on the mantelpiece. Throwing it into the fire she screeched out "Auror Headquarters." And thrust her head into the green flames.

"I am Julia Rosmerta, and I'm at 12 Grimmauld Place. Some people have attacked us, and we need help and medical help and my guest, he's the one with the knife, is badly injured, and we have prisoners! And tell Gringotts and Thomas Wilder, Solicitor that Sirius Black should come home right now, this is his house. I mean leave a message for him there to come home!"

Then she ran out of the room, a small fire was beginning to eat its way into the wall, she threw Freezing spells at it until it went out. She then dashed to the back door, looked out into the devastation that was the greenhouse, noticing a set of bodies, human sized, lying on top of the rubble, and then dashed back into the house in time to meet the Rapid Reaction Team as it burst out from the study.

"There may be someone out back, and the rest are this way." Rosmerta directed the team leader. Shacklebolt nodded to two of the men, and led the others as they followed her toward the front of the house. They stepped over the odd body as they went forward. When Leo saw the officially robed party he carefully placed the knife down on the steps and held up both hands, palms facing forwards, and waved them in a slightly silly manner. Well, he was feeling a little light-headed and silly right now anyway.

Shacklebolt looked out through the hole in the front door, at the clusters of Muggles outside looking and gesturing at the house that had suddenly appeared on Grimmauld Place. He barked out, "Oblivators, lots of them, immediately!" That sent one of the team, well, actually, the only one still with him, back to the floo to get the word out. That meant when Shacklebolt turned to the young man standing by the stairs and slowly dripping blood, and really looked at him through the caked and streaked dust and flour and blood, there was no-one else there but Ms. Rosmerta when the Auror said: "Corvus! You're dead! Why are you here?"


	28. Chapter 28

I do not own, or receive any profits, from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 28- Dancing as fast as I can

"Ah, I see that you've met my evil twin brother, who fled before being arrested for having absconded with the fabled Star of Hoboken, the family treasure plucked by an ancestor from the tie pin of the fabled Mafia Don Ameche. Would you mind if I sat down? It's not easy making these things up on my feet." Leo felt that Plan B was going all right, as Shacklebolt had started laughing. That might give him enough time to figure out how to recover from his original scheme being blown sky high when someone who knew about the Corvus identity showed up. Leo reached slowly into the chest pocket of his tweed jacket (only the rear was torn into bloody rags) and took out his ID wallet. He opened it up to the Muggle Driver's License with a photo and the name Otto Hahn on it, and passed it over to Shacklebolt.

The Auror looked it over. Many in his job were ignorant of Muggle things and ways beyond being able to not attract attention on a stakeout. He had bothered to do the studying on their basic laws, including ordinary identification. The license was, at least at first glance, valid for a visitor who wanted to drive an auto in Britain. Folded up in the little wallet was a slip of paper, a visitor's pass to the wards of The Royal Hospital for Neuro-disability. As he read it Shacklebolt felt relieved; he would have hated for Hahn to have been trying to slip him a bribe. It would have implied too many things.

"My sister's getting some specialized treatment over here, and as the rest of the family is tied up right now I came over with Annette. It makes sense anyhow; I did work here with an estate agent for part of last year, and know a bit about the place and all."

Shacklebolt heard the popping sound of the crew of Oblivators showing up outside and made a quick decision: "You're coming with me to St. Mungos, you need some patching up. And you too, Ms Rosmerta. In your condition you should be checked out after an affray like this. Mr. Hahn, you will be giving your statement to me there, and we will arrange to meet later to discuss what _really _happened, here and at Hogwarts."

Leo didn't see any easier alternative than going along with this; he certainly was in no shape to do a flashy escape. If they could just be persuaded to do the interrogation under Veritaserum he should be able to pull this off. Veritaserum could be, if not exactly beaten, thwarted by Occlumency. This would be a good time to see if all the studying of that art had been wasted or not. It would have been better if he could have had a coached and friendly person doing the questioning, but needs must when the Devil drives.

With the arrival of some of the regular Auror teams Shacklebolt and his bunch escorted the Victims (Ms Rosmerta and Mr. Hahn) and the Perps, both living (one found on the back lawn unconscious with several broken limbs and a concussion, two from the front of the hallway in various states of injury) and dead to St. Mungos for repair as needed and any forensic work that had to be done. The living Perps were, of course, searched and completely stripped of any magical gear, and anti-Apporation restrains put on them.

At St Mungos Leo was soon stripped and face down on a gurney, where a young Mediwitch was using tweezers to pick out glass slivers from his back. Some were in at an angle, some partially buried under the skin, and using a spell would have just increased the damage that would have to be repaired later. Until all the glass was done with healing spells would have just complicated things. Some local anesthetic had been poured onto his back, making the pain feel very distant.

Sirius Black had shown up while they were still in receiving and went off with his fiancé when she was wheeled down a corridor for her examination.

It was over an hour before Leo was sitting gingerly up, back not touching the chair, his torso wrapped around with medicated bandages, with a new set of patches to the wounds on his head. Except for the wand wound none of cuts had been life-threatening, just messy and bloody enough in total to have got him woozy. Leo had even figured out how he had gotten off so lightly.

When he had sat down in the greenhouse he had been in a high-backed wicker chair with his back facing the garden entrance the raiders had come in from. They had seen someone sitting down inside and assumed it was Black, so they had sent spells to blow up the addition. Since his back had been sore Leo had placed several layers of cushions to pad and support his lower spine. Between the lacquered wicker, the cushions, his tough tweed coat, the vest, and the rest of his clothes (not to forget his thick skull) all the bigger pieces of glass that had been coming at him had been slowed up and broken into smaller and less dangerous pieces by the time they hit him. If he had been sitting facing the other way, out toward the garden things would have been a lot worse, probably fatal. He had only sat down facing the way he had because it was easier to talk with Walburga that way, and it kept the sun from getting in his eyes. Perhaps there was a lesson in this: "It never hurts to be polite." A good lesson in any situation, really!

The Mediwitch in charge wasn't too happy with how he was responding to some of the potions he had been given. Except for the wand wound he wasn't healing nearly as fast as she felt he should from such superficial (less than two inches deep into muscle tissue) injuries. As she didn't know what Ms Rosmerta had done with the wand injury she speculated that Hahn's magical core was being drained to deal with the most serious of the wounds. Rosmerta's treatment had been from an old family recipe (and the Rosmertas were an old family before Merlin was up and about), and was from before potions had been refined so as to speed up healing by using the patient's (as opposed to the Healer's) magic. Her type of potion worked equally well for Muggle or Witch. The modern sort, while still useful for any user, was much more effective with the mage-born, while being far less draining for the creator.

Shacklebolt came into his room, with an Auror of his team, evidence collecting paraphernalia, and a bottle of the needed potion. Leo prepared his mental shields, both natural and learned. Three drops were put on his tongue, and he made sure that it was seen that he swallowed them. Shacklebolt started his questioning.

"Your identification says you're Otto Hahn, is that right? Have you called yourself Phil Corvus?"

"Yes that's right, glad I always carry stuff like that around, stops lots of useless speculation you know. I have called myself Phil Corvus; do you want to know why?"

"Yes, tell me why." Kingsley Shacklebolt saw that Hahn wasn't fighting the potion, but was going along with it. Not the worst thing for the interrogator, but you had to keep control of things or the subject would just go babbling off on tangents.

"I've got this friend you see, Will? And he has this Familiar named Phil, and he's the smartest damn bird you've ever seen, so when I went up the school to help Sirius find that guy who had messed his life up I thought it would be fun secret agent thing, since Sirius had to have a fake name anyway and I didn't want to use Otto Hahn after all so I…"

Shacklebolt cut off the answer there, everything he had wanted to know about that had already been answered and he wanted to get Hahn's story on the incident at Grimmauld Place down before the potion wore off. "Did you use any Unforgiveable spells at Grimmauld Place?" It was a good idea to check this out. There had been evidence that at least two Avada Kedavra's had been thrown in the attack, Rosmerta's wand had been checked and was clean, and Hahn's hadn't been located yet.

"Nope, not a one. Ya' see, when the place blew up I was knocked flying, when I came to my senses I didn't have anything but what was in my pockets, no wands there Mister! So I just had to work with what I had. I can do some basic sorts of things wandless, so I went with that."

"Now slowly and carefully go through the events this afternoon at Grimmauld Place."

"Sure, do you think I could get some tea? I like tea, but with sugar, no cream, I think cream just makes it look ugly, especially as I like lemon and that makes it curdle…"

"What happened when the attack started?"

"Oh, right. Well I wake up on the ground and it hurts pretty much all over. There's all this dust and I wonder how long I was out. Did I mention I was knocked out for a while?" At Shacklebolt's nod Leo continued: "I hear some people saying to make sure of Black and they would go into the house. I figured telling them I wasn't Black probably wouldn't matter, so they would have to go **Down! **It sounded like they were angry at Ms Rosmerta too, and I didn't like that because she is a really nice lady and everything. So I tried stirring up the dust so they couldn't see me, and I picked up some pieces of glass, real carefully, you don't need a wand for that, do you? And then…"

Leo continued the story, totally true, but a long way from totally revealing. Picked up, threw, heard, sensed; all used as euphuisms for the technical terms of Sie or Teek. After all, he wanted to help the nice man, not confuse him. Using terms Normals, even magical ones, would understand better was only being helpful. The potion made Leo feel cooperative well enough, but it wasn't any struggle to either be strictly literal and deceptive, or be general enough to misdirect while under it. He wondered if he could be able to actively lie while under the potion, or even stonewall. It didn't matter right now. If he had been trying to fight the potion the Aurors would have noticed, and bored in with their questions. By being cheerful and cooperating with them he had managed to get them smoothly past any of the dangerous parts. It didn't hurt that he was, after all, not a suspect, but just a witness.

After about twenty minutes the potion began to leave his system and they got him his cup of tea (and a few biscuits), and prepared the testimony for endorsement and future use. After calling in a Mediwitch to make a statement that he was under no potion (the Veritaserum having worn off) or spell that clouded his will they let him read the rambling testimony, and authorize it to be used if needed at any legal proceedings that came up in regard to the events of the day. As Leo intended to make himself scarce in regard to the Magical legal system having his statement available and useable without him being present was as good as could be hoped for.

Sirius Black wheeled his fiancé in her wheelchair into the small room, to check up on his guest's status. He felt that with Hahn you'd never knew if he'd be taking a flyer, getting in trouble, or getting a medal. Currently it looked like he was getting a long delayed snack.

Rosmerta had spent the last hour or so bored silly with a bunch of medical tests that were supposed to assess her 'delicate condition,' when she not only didn't feel very delicate, but was pumped up from thoroughly trashing (with young Otto's help, of course) an invasion of her fiancé's home. The whole riding around in a wheelchair thing was a silly hospital policy, and while it made Sirius feel very important it just wasn't necessary in her opinion.

She looked over at the basket holding most of Hahn's clothing (he was currently in his socks and drawers, under a hospital gown) and asked if the Aurors were done with his effects. On being assured they were, she began to charm them for cleansing and repair. At the cost of the vest the shirt and jacket were saved, once again she used her old Family Magic. Modern Magic would have used charms that would have cleaned up and repaired each item, without having to use material from one to repair the others. But unless the user was powerful and put a lot of that power into the spells they might well just fail at the most inopportune moment, a social situation many people would prefer to avoid. Julia Rosmerta didn't mind looking old fashioned and unsophisticated. She preferred clothing that didn't come apart on you (except for that delightful lingerie that Sirius was always buying for her).

Leo dressed quickly now that the police were satisfied with him, and his clothes weren't in rags. After a recent longish stay in a Japanese hospital his modesty wasn't much of a consideration to him. He joined Sirius and Rosmerta as they faced their next challenge, getting checked out of the hospital rather than having to stay an extra day or two for "observation."

In the end it was Julia's social skills that got them out. Sirius' increasing rude anger and Leo's cheerful obstinacy might each have worked given enough time. Her putting on the Great Lady, and hints of how she just _had _to get home and rest in her own bed, in _her condition, _got them free of the Hospital Administration Office with the least amount of fuss. Once outside the place a more pressing problem became apparent. Where would Black and Rosmerta stay for the night.

Julia wanted to just Portkey back to Hogsmead and her rooms at the Three Broomsticks. Despite starting to seriously droop Leo protested vigorously.

"I added them up, there were at least eight men in crew that attacked. Maybe more, and a chance that there is someone still unaccounted for who set it all up. At least one escaped. They were not burglars, they were going for kills. Can you think of anywhere they're more likely to have a secondary attack prepared for than your place in Hogsmead? Even if not right now, they'll get one organized as soon as they hear that you're back behind the bar. Even with Mr. Black there as auxiliary bouncer all the time there are a dozen ways they could get at you. And Black, are you willing to risk her life to hoping this is all taken care of?"

"A dozen ways? Don't joke, I'd be safe as houses!" Julia protested. Leo then listed twelve ways to kill her at Hogsmead (mostly in the Pub) involving three with fire, two with blasting spells, an ingenious use of poison gas, a poisoned toilet seat, a hostage exchange betrayal, adulterated food, an impersonation of staff, impersonation of local storekeepers, and a drive-by shooting by a gang of broom flyers. Once again Sirius wondered who exactly Otto Hahn was.

"Black, can you do any wards that will make it hard to be located by magic?" When Sirius nodded Leo grabbed them both by the arms and hailed a Muggle taxi that was going by: "Grimmauld Place, please!"

When they got there they could still see the Oblivator crews at work, dealing with people on the street and going into houses. At Leo's request Sirius called for Kreacher, but no house-elf popped up. Leo shepherded them into the Muggle auto he had been using, and began the drive to the AGER safe house Liz and he were staying at. Despite increasing yawns showing his fatigue he managed to get them there safely, talking all the while of how he had to get to the hospital and see his sister the next day, because she was always worrying about him. When Julia remarked on how hard it was to walk in and visit people in St. Mungos Leo pulled out his ID wallet and waved it. "All taken care of," he said. Julia remembered now that he had shown Shacklebolt a visitor's pass to a Muggle hospital earlier.

Leo let them in, then just stood there yawning for a minute with a blank look.

"Sirius, you know where everything is, right? I'm just beat, I'm heading in to bed, see you in the morning."

Before he disappeared Julia made sure he took another brace of healing and pain killing potions, including a sleeping one. With that he went up to his room, while Sirius and Julia went to the kitchen and made themselves a late dinner, cleaned up, and then went upstairs to find the bedroom. When the lights were finally out Julia allowed herself to get all delicate and clinging. They both enjoyed that for a while before falling to sleep.


	29. Chapter 29

I do not own, or profit from, the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 29 – Best Summer Ever, Part 2

At 9:14 PM on June 21st a force of Aurors broke into the house of Simon Milton, a suspect in the Black Assault Case. Milton was found, dead, lying on the floor of his home. His neck was snapped "as clean as if by a hangman's noose" said Auror John Dawlish, who was in charge of the operation. Milton still had his wand in his hand, which on being tested for recent spells it proved to show clear evidence of his participation in the recent attack, including use of Unforgivables. There was no evidence of anyone else in the house: "A clever job of covering things up," Auror Dawlish said in a statement to a _Daily Prophet_ reporter later that night. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement kept the file open. That Milton might have died due to having his head being temporarily held by Telekinesis while the rest of his body was attempting to Portkey out was not a possibility brought up by the investigation. Nor, considering the available information, should it have been.

At 7:32 AM the next day Lucius Malfoy was reading the _Daily Prophet_ with his second cup of coffee and having a good chuckle at the political reporting. It renewed his dedication to be the one who would (if only from the shadows) lead the Wizarding World. The average witch or wizard needed to be led around, preferably by a ring through their nose. It was only when he came to the **Auror News** section did he end up spitting out a sip of fine Columbian brew all over the breakfast table. He angrily shooed Narcissa away when she rose from her seat and came over to offer him assistance.

Lucius had expected to get his first knowledge of Sirius Black's and Julia Rosmerta's deaths in the paper. Having Milton contact him directly so soon after the act might be traced, might be incriminating. Malfoy was far from eager to be known as a man who was violent, as he was still living down the Death Eater charges from so long ago. Finding out that (counting them one by one) eight wizards were either dead or in custody meant that things had not merely gone wrong, there had to have been a betrayal! It was a good thing that Milton was reported dead, or was it?

Was the man secretly in custody, while clever ways were being found to get around the Oath he had sworn? If he wasn't, who had killed him, and why? It was obvious the attackers had run into a carefully prepared ambush. How had the news leaked? According to Dumbledore (whom he had talked to recently) Black was a trembling shell of a man, so who was the mastermind who had organized the trap, and had the resources to assemble the ten or more wizards that must have been involved? Most importantly: how much of Lucius' own involvement was known?

Someone of such wealth, power, and ruthlessness was an obvious danger to Lucius, his wealth, his influence. Oh yes, and to Draco and Narcissa too, of course. Someone like that had to be either eliminated or placated. The trouble with either was that Lucius had no idea of who to either kill or bribe. Flight was a possibility of course, but only if he could be sure that he wasn't being monitored and traced. If only Narcissa hadn't been born a Black this all would never have happened! With this clear assignment of blame for his troubles he went up to dress for a friendly visit to the Ministry, and a chance to get a hold of the Aurors' files on the case.

At 8:35 AM Sirius Black got up from the table in the kitchen of what he liked to think of as MFC Central and went to get Otto for breakfast. The door of his bedroom wasn't locked, and when Sirius looked in he saw Otto laying face-down on the bed, on top of the covers. His jacket lay discarded on the floor. On his shirt there were a few faint pink blobs where he had bled through the bandages. It was obvious that he had barely made it to the bed last night. He didn't respond when Sirius entered the room, and it was obvious the kid was not in good enough shape for any hospital visits today, or at least any that didn't have _him_ staying there for treatment. Sirius reached into the chest pocket of the jacket, pulled out the ID folder, and then quietly left the room. The girl certainly deserved to know that her brother wouldn't be coming to see her today.

Sirius Black was by no means the average wizard, ignorant of all things Muggle. Besides his long ago training as an Auror he had spent at least half of the last year moving around in the Muggle world and dealing with Muggles of all sorts. He had long ago come to the acceptance that the percentage of wizard and Muggle arses and idiots was probably the same. The mysteries of telephones held no terrors for him. Until now, when trying to get a simple message to a girl in Hospital led him into Automated Switchboard Hell!

One meaningless choice after another led him in endless circles. Even the "if you wish to speak to" messages ended up leading nowhere. By 9:20 Sirius slammed down the telephone with his face red verging on explosive. Julia had been there besides him for the last twenty minutes and had long ago passed from being amused at his problems to complete sympathy for his pains. She patted him on the shoulder and whispered in his ear. He protested her plan that he go in person to let the girl know her brother was "indisposed." The last thing a girl in a strange country, in a hospital no less, needed was to have a strange man come to her and tell her that her brother was busy having his bloody bandages changed to see her right then. In the end she won, though. He did make one condition; after all the other MFC should really know about Otto's situation, and it was only polite to let them know that they had guests staying at their country place. So once again Sirius took up the telephone with a trembling hand and dialed.

This time a living, friendly, and helpful human picked up the other end. Someone sympathetic and willing to actually doing something for another living person was on the phone.

At 11:14 George and William Quiller (as far as Sirius knew them) drove up to house-watch and debrief Otto Hahn, whenever he managed to wake up. They were charming and polite to Julia, and Sirius knew that while George was a member of the SAS, the equivalent of a Muggle hit-wizard. Sirius left the house feeling that he had done his best to secure the house, from setting up privacy wards to making sure that there were competent watchdogs until he came back.

Having mastered motorcycles in his youth, picking up driving an auto had been no trouble over the last year. Even parking near the hospital proved easy enough, as Sunday was a slow traffic day. Flashing the visitor's pass as he went in let him shoot past the security man at the entrance. The only thing that slowed him up was the set of young women at the information desk that wanted to flirt with him. He appreciated the sentiment, but as an almost married man he made sure to cut things off before after-work assignations were proposed.

He found the other Hahn in a private room. She looked lost in the bed: a slender, olive-skinned girl with a small turban of gauze bandages on her skull. Her features were delicate and fine, and her nose a much more attractive length than Otto's. She looked up when she heard the door open, her eyes slightly oval and very dark. She smiled (good teeth there) and offered to give him some help if he was lost: "They don't really give good directions at the desk, do they?"

"Oh, I was looking for you, Miss Hahn. I'm Sirius Black."

There was a brief moment of confusion shown on her face. "Otto was going to see you the other day, wasn't he? Is he… is he coming later?"

"Well, when he was over there was a bit of a dustup…" Sirius saw her grabbing the sheet in her fists. She was screwing her face up in a mixture of anger and fear.

"He's done something stupid, hasn't he? Something violent and heroic and he's hurt so he sent you to pretend it's nothing serious and he's scared to see me himself because it's always 'protect the little sister time' for him. Well take me to him! I'll beat him up for doing this; he shouldn't be let out on his own without a keeper!"

She slid her feet out from under the covers and started to stand up. Her legs began to buckle, and Sirius ran over to catch her before she hit the ground. All the Muggle machines, with their buzzes and blinking lights, were going mad. As Sirius placed her back onto the bed he wondered why there were no attendants running in to see what was happening. Wasn't that what the different devices were supposed to do?

"Guess I'm not ready to get up and rescue big bro, am I?" She noticed Sirius looking at the various machines. "They don't report to the workstation anymore. It was so irritating when they would barge in here at the littlest thing, so I fixed them. All the nurses see is calm and steady, lets them have a bit of a rest."

Sirius decided to give her the gist of the situation while she was still feeling unready to go charging off in all directions: "He was in the garden, having tea and biscuits with my mother's portrait." He saw her nod, so she knew about Walburga. "My fiancée was upstairs, when this bunch of crooks broke in and started throwing spells everywhere. I wasn't there, had to visit my solicitor, so it was just Julia and Otto there until the Aurors showed up. For a bunch of civilians they did very well for themselves, and only the crooks were hurt." Sirius suspected being killed qualified as being hurt. "Your brother was hit by some flying glass, luckily not on his face, and that's all been treated. He was just so worn out that he couldn't make it here today." That was that, and pretty much all true.

It was obvious she wasn't completely satisfied with his explanation.

"How much blood did he lose?"

"Not a lot, really not too much. The potions are recharging him right now, he's in no danger. Resting quietly at your place he is." The girl's 'tell me the truth or die' glare was hard to resist.

"Body count; with Leo there's always a body count."

"Just four, all his I think. Julia is more of a 'stun and bind' kind of girl." So his name was really Leo… something. She also didn't know her brother as well as she thought she did. At both Knockturn Alley and Hogwarts Sirius had seen him in action, and no one had died.

"There was a pretty girl there, right? And he just keeps on acting all noble?"

"Certainly there was, my fiancée! And if she made a complaint of him acting badly I'd be very harsh with whatever was left of him after she was through."

The girl, Annette (maybe, maybe not), gave a smile. "I'd like to meet her. O-Otto says she's really wonderful, and you're expecting too, I think?"

"Yes, but we hope to have the wedding before then. If you get out of here soon enough you should meet her. I don't think the Black Family place will be fixed up properly for a bit, so we're staying over at your place… Otto insisted… until things straighten out."

After that the conversation became more conventional; how much she liked Britain, how she was looking forward to her new school come the Autumn, Rosmerta being a good cook, a musical person, and a fine businesswoman. Sirius didn't try to direct their talk in any particular direction, beyond making sure that she knew that she was expected to be in the wedding party. But he noticed that through everything her brother had become "Otto" again, she never actually mentioned where her home was, or the name or location of the new school she was so eager to attend.

Three days later when Sirius, Julia, and Otto (Leo?) came to pick her up Annette was delighted when a snow white owl swooped down from its perch on a nearby light pole and dropped a letter into Sirius' hand. When Harry had read in the _Prophet_ about the attack he had immediately written to Sirius asking about what had happened (he wasn't all that sure the _Daily Prophet_ was a completely reliable source of news). Hedwig had taken this long to deliver it because Sirius (the addressee) had been constantly moving in and out of various privacy wards as he went between his temporary residence, his bank, his solicitor, the contractor who was to renovate 12 Grimmauld Place, and the security specialist who was going to upgrade the long-neglected wards and protective spells to a fairly insane degree. (After all, are you really paranoid if you have proof they really _are_ out to get you?)

Hedwig went back with them to the house, was given a good meal, and then sent back to Harry with a long letter and an invitation to spend a few days there when he was free. She was now included in the list of those who could pass the wards. To prevent complications the protections there were heavily weighted against wizardly prying, but considering where the danger seemed to be coming from that only seemed appropriate.

Sirius had found it a bit hard to break the news that Kreacher's body had been discovered buried under debris in the greenhouse. He mused how it was both sad and funny how much Otto had been affected by the news that Walburga's portrait had been damaged beyond repair in the attack. In fact, he was surprised how much he himself felt a sense of loss at that. Walburga the portrait had been far more supportive of him (even if occasionally under mistaken premises) than Walburga the mother.

Lucius Malfoy was unhappy with his research at the Ministry of Magic. The Auror report was obviously doctored, as there was no mention of anyone being in the Black house but the barmaid and some no-name visitor. Whoever was behind the ambush had enough pull to counter Lucius, even in the Ministry!

Narcissa Malfoy spent much of her time coddling her son. He had been trying some dangerous flying stunts too long one morning, and fallen off of his broom. The injuries were minor, but they gave her an opportunity to beg off some of her duller social commitments to be with him.

Luna Lovegood was terribly bored. Without a Hogwarts column to do she had too much time on her hands. There was only so much hunting for possible (i.e. no one else had ever seen them, but that just meant that no one could disprove them) beasts and creatures. At least the Weasleys were always fun. Whenever she visited she and Ginny were able to get Ron on the run within a half-hour. Helping the twins brew things was a bit hazardous but entertaining. And she had been able to find out where Ginny had stored her Harry Potter shrine. It was still being kept dust free and up to date, she noticed.

Luna was looking forward to the Rosmerta-Black wedding. She knew a bunch of people who were almost like friends to her would be there: Ginny, Harry, RON, and Neville. She was sure she would write a better story about it than that Skeeter woman. And finally, it was going to be so romantic; the vindicated fugitive, the lovely tavern wench (alright, so she also owned the place) who had helped his body and mind after his unjust imprisonment. It really didn't get much better than that. Perhaps if there was someone there for her… but that was getting silly.


	30. Chapter 30

I do not own, or receive any profits, from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 30- Plans B,C…

Leo found it odd that he could do calligraphy, even make simultaneous copies, better using Teek that he could with his hands. It was proving very convenient as he had been drafted to help send out the corrections to the wedding invitations. As the original address, Grimmauld Place, was undergoing a bit of reconstructions and a security upgrade it was no longer going to be the location of the event. Augusta Longbottom had volunteered to host the ceremony, but the one hundred and fifty invitees had to be informed in proper, gilded ink on parchment style.

_Lady Julia Rosmerta and Lord Sirius Black beg leave to inform_

_ That the venue of their Marriage, to take place on July 12__th__ of_

_ This year is now Longbottom Manor._

_ The Festivities will still take place starting at 3:33 PM, with_

_ Banqueting and dancing to follow._

_ The enclosed token will allow Portkey entrance to the Manor._

Liz was in charge of getting their wedding gift; she had been engaged in prolonged overseas telephone calls to their mother about it. So like Sirius, Leo had been drafted to run errands and do the odd jobs not requiring taste, social graces, or intelligence. He had become very used to being a package carrier and yes man: "The green you think, or the blue? I think the green, don't you?"

He always went on these shopping expeditions with a leather bracelet covered with three rows of (loosely attached) metal studs around his wrist, and a Buck hunting knife with a 7" blade in a sheath tucked into his boot. Still, he was feeling severely underequipped. There were no friendly sporting goods stores or firearms dealers with canisters of pepper spray, Tasers or even the humble electrified cattle prod to be found in Britain. Or at least none that asked no questions. Ammunition could be had, on the street, for a premium price. But Britain had not developed the sophisticated less-than-legal firearms distribution system that flourished in so many US cities and larger towns. After the interrupted tea party at the Black's he was feeling very antsy not having something incapacitating, if not lethal, near to his hands. Unfortunately the local AGER branch was not being reasonable about things.

As Quiller had pointed out to him when he was debriefed the day Sirius went to the hospital to see Liz, he was not on a mission that authorized him to have deadly weapons issued to him. Accordingly he should just stay out of harm's way; after all he was just supposed to be there to help his sister get around and do a little light chaperoning. He was on his own, should keep his head down, and if Quiller heard that he had done a little larceny at any of the arms rooms of the nearby Aldershot Barracks heads would roll! Or at least one would. In fact, he was to keep his klepotmaniacal hands off of the entire arsenal of Her Majesty's Armed Forces: Army, Navy and RAF! Leo nodded. "I'm on my own, scrounging as best I may then?"

If Quiller hadn't thought he had been a little over the top before he might not have given a little embarrassed nod. Well, at least he had saved some poor arms room clerk from having to explain a shortage of equipment come inventory day. The rest of the UK would have to survive as best it could.

This led to Leo doing a forty-five mile drive several evenings that week to Portsmouth. As well as being a major base of the Royal Navy it was a flourishing city of nearly 200,000. While he had promised (and a promise is a promise, after all) not to disarm the RN, no one had said anything about the local police department evidence storage lockers. Or, for a town of this size, more of a large basement room under the municipal police headquarters. Twice to case the place out, once to do… shopping.

So, at two in the morning, Leo was carefully walking around and reading the contents listed on the outsides of the evidence boxes, using Sie to sense what was inside them. This avoided the trouble of opening them up physically, and risking knocking something over. There wasn't anyone nearby to hear, he thought, but doing the least amount of possible moving things was just better Craft.

In the interests of being a good citizen, or at least a good tourist, Leo had started with the boxes for crimes tried at least ten years ago, and was moving his way back in time from there. After ten years he figured that the case was either settled or would never be closed anyway. In many ways his researches were proving saddening. Of the first six boxes listing firearms three had been empty of the listed contents, one was a completely different item than on the exterior listing, and the others were pieces of trash that he knew he could never rehabilitate to a useable condition. It seemed obvious that some people in the police were a bit light-fingered. It wasn't until he had worked his way back to 1978 that he hit paydirt.

The outside notes described a sordid tragedy of adultery, betrayal and murder. Suitable for a tabloid write up, not one where the elegant BBC detectives would exercise their intellect and intuition to catch the clever and least likely suspect. Elderly retired Colonel, young second wife, hunk local contractor doing renovations, war souvenir pulled out of a gun cabinet one night to drive off a "burglar" in the dark. A shot rings out and Colonel Finchley (DSO, GC, MC and OBI) lies dead in the study, a smoking pistol in the hand of his wife. Case resolved in 1979 with convictions for the two lovers for conspiracy and murder.

And the weapon, A Pistole-Parabellum 1908! The classic, iconic, Luger pistol. One of the Four Great Pistols! The raked handle, the toggle action on the top, the real thing. Leo use Sie to inspect it; it was complete and unrusted. Springs still springy, two magazines in the box, a small brush and bottle of gun oil included. "You are mine, mine my Precious!" Leo murmured.

Using only Teek (no need to risk leaving fingerprints) Leo opened the container and lifted the pistol and the rest of the relevant equipment out. All were neatly put into his pockets, after which he put a scribbled note with an illegible signature on the outside of the box that the pistol had been taken "for examination" on an illegible date. You have to keep up with the paperwork, or it will snow you under.

Carefully locking up behind him, made all the easier by the lack of surveillance cameras and motion detectors, Leo left the Evidence Room with a happy heart. He wondered if he should send some sort of donation to the Police Benevolent Society. He decided: no, as it would only confuse them.

Now he had to schedule a visit to a good London bookstore where he could get something like a maintenance manual. And then another long night locating a suitable source in the very-dark-grey part of the economy to get a supply of 9mm ammo. Or maybe he could annoy and guilt-trip Quiller into supplying a couple of boxes? That would be a really needed break from the drudgery of social visits and wedding shopping.

On July 10th Leo green (deeply into playing the role of Otto Hahn) parked the Vauxhall Cavalier he had gotten out of the AGER controlled rental agency in front of #4 Privet Drive in the town of Little Whinging and prepared for the worst. He had been warned that he might not return unsinged from this mission' picking up Harry Potter from his Muggle relatives/tormentors, and bringing him to Longbottom Manor for the wedding rehearsal. Leo had no fears about this; he was armed, he was dangerous, and he could do the Hundred Meter Sprint in less than 13 seconds. How many middle aged drill company executives could beat that?

The woman that opened the door at his knock was certainly a bit tall and boney, maybe a little horse face if you looked at her the right (wrong) way, but hardly the Muggle Hag he had been warned about. As usual, he thought, you see what you expect to see.

"Hello, Mrs. Dursley, I'm Otto Hahn. I believe you were expecting me? I'm here to bring Harry to the rehearsal."

"You're one of … of them?"

"That sort of depends on who them is, are? Really, I'm just a friend of the family doing a little favor. I happened to have some free time and an auto, so I was elected to the running around."

Petunia Dursley looked over his shoulder (she being tall, and the young man a bit short) and saw an auto parked outside. It was a proper British automobile. There was nothing foreign or freakish about it. Nothing at all that the neighbors or any else would find at all odd or disturbing.

"I'll be sure to get him back by nine or ten. Don't worry, he'll get his dinner, and the spiked punch hasn't even been made yet." Leo suddenly had some second thoughts about that. Perhaps that little bit of humor was a touch too far.

Petunia was reassured by the very cheerful and normal Mr. Hahn. Except for a bit too much of a tan he looked like anyone off the street. She could just tell he wouldn't do anything like have the auto take off into the air, or suddenly vanish in front of everybody. It would be good to have Harry out of the hose. He had been doing some gardening (the boy had a way with flowers) and staying up in his room, but over the last few days everyone had been getting on each other's nerves. Sad but true, she couldn't wait for his "move out" day when they could be rid of each other for another year.

"Just wait here, I'll get him." No reason to take a chance and let Hahn into the house though.

"Certainly, thank you." She seemed more nervous, even timid, than vicious. Then again he was dressed in upper middle class level casual wear, not wizard robes and eccentric everything else.

A beefy, plus-sized boy poked his head out of a room and sized Leo up. He gave a disparaging snort and went back into the room, the sound of a television seeping out into the hallway. He saw Leo as a little twerp, Leo say him as meat on the table. Someone could be heard coming down the stairs two at a time.

Thin, glasses, mop of black hair over green eyes, sullen expression; Harry Potter exactly to the description. Oh yes, some sort of a scar on the forehead.

"HI Harry, I'm Otto. Car's out front. Mrs. Dursley, thanks so much for your courtesy. As I said, I'll try to have Harry back before it's too late."

"You needn't hurry on our account. As long as he's back before midnight the weirdness will be satisfied. Or at least they told me that." She looked at Leo hoping for some sort of confirmation. He shrugged.

"Not my field of study, I'm afraid. But I'm sure that's what they said."

Petunia was not reassured by that, but could hardly fault Hahn for voicing what she had felt ever since she had been trapped in dealing with wizards and their murderous politics. She remembered: "Lily will back from that school soon and you'll be together just like before." Then it had been: "Even families grow apart, Pet. We'll still always be sisters, nothing can ever change that!" Finally, it had ended up with: "My wife can have no more contact with you. You no longer fit into her life, it is at a completely different level than anything you can imagine. Forget her, you have no sister."

Even in the end, with all the anger and the pain, she had never wanted Lily murdered. And then the child was dumped on her doorstep, with the little note in the basket; "This is Harry Potter, his parents have been killed. As his blood kin you will raise him. Protections have been put in place to protect him at your home. We will know if you attempt to shirk your duty. You are not given an option about this. We will know if you attempt to evade your assigned duty. Dumbledore."

So they couldn't protect Lily and man she had married (a wizarding copper too boot), but they could protect a family of regular folks? No, they didn't say that, did they? The protections were for the brat, her husband and baby could go hang for all they cared. Wizards and their promises, wizards and their lies.

Harry liked sitting up front in a classy car. It was much better than having to scrunch down in the back seat and pretend to be invisible. Hahn seemed cheerful, but very quiet. Harry decided to study him. He was very attentive to road conditions, always checking in the rear view mirrors.

"Just got your license, Huh? I figure that I'll get to Aport when I'm seventeen, won't have to muck about with autos and roads."

"No, had it for years, though as I'm not a local boy my reflexes are all for the other side of the road."

"It's just you seem to spend a lot of your time checking your mirrors, I thought that meant you were… inexperienced."

"Just like to know who's trying to sneak up behind me. I'm getting tired of that kind of surprise."

On that comforting note they drove on, in silence, until they reached a prosperous row of terrace houses. Hahn parked the car and led Harry into the one numbered 12. Several workmen were engaged in carefully removing walls and setting them in other places, while not having the unsupported upper floors crash down. Hahn led him into a library, with a fireplace connected to the Floo Network. A pinch of powder and the address: "Longbottom Manor" and they were stepping into a sitting room there. As Harry began his traditional stumble a snake-strike fast arm reached out and grabbed him before he lost his footing. Hahn gave a friendly grin and said, "Scotty usually gives a smoother landing than that." Harry wondered who Scotty was, and what he had to do with floo travel.

Neville was there to greet them. Harry was sure that he must have shoot up at least two inches in the month since he had last seen him. He wondered if there were any changes going on with him, and that he was perhaps too close to notice them. Black was an amusing study. He was all grinning confidence when his fiancé was around; as soon as he couldn't see her he seemed to turn into a much smaller and more timid person. At those times Professor Lupin would come over and grab him about the shoulders and whisper something bracing. That always seemed to work bucking Black up. Madam Rosmerta managed to accomplish a difficult thing, being extremely pregnant and still being the cheerful and immensely attractive woman he knew from the Three Broomsticks. Mrs. Longbottom was going about giving everyone directions, a firm but friendly Granny. She was lot less intimidating without her vulture topped hat on.

In fact, as the others from the Bride and Groom's sides arrived and were grouped together it worked out that there were basically two groups, the ceremonial party, and those who would be doing the setting up. Hahn was definitely one of the latter group; he was moving tables and chairs around, and setting up arbors and pavilions outside. The Weather Wizards had promised a beautiful day for the wedding , but it didn't hurt to be prepared. To Harry it looked suspiciously like Hahn was using something that looked less like a wand, and more like something from a drum kit. There was also an olive skinned girl in a tee shirt, shorts and a baseball cap who seemed to be dashing around with a perpetual grin on her face. Who had evidently appointed herself refreshments coordinator (the Longbottoms had not had a House-Elf since _that_ day…) and had made it her special job to make sure that Ms Rosmerta had a chair, a snack and a cup of something to drink at all times.

After about an hour everyone was assembled and they began to go through the choreography of the ceremony. Or rather, stumble through it. Most weddings in the magical community were a lot less formal, and just had an official from the Ministry to make sure that the paperwork wa all signed, and a few honored guests to give increasingly (as their ages and state of inebriation increased) incoherent speeches lying about the principals. But this ceremony was at Longbottom Manor (under the eye of Augusta Longbottom herself) and involved the oldest of the New Magical Aristocracy of Britain (the Blacks), and the oldest of the Old Magical Aristocracy of Britain (the Rosmertas). Something a lot more formal was evidently in preparation here.

Black's Party included Professor Lupin, Harry, and incredibly cut up old man named Moody, Mr. Bulstrode (Millicent from Slytherin's father) a Mr. McNally, and bunch who's names Harry never did properly catch and attach a particular face to. Though some of them sounded awfully similar to some of the students of the Snake's Hose that he had never had much to do with.

Madam Rosmerta's Party was made up of three groups of three each. One in each group was old (in fact Mrs. Longbottom was in one of the triads), one of marriageable age, and one about eleven or twelve. Harry overheard that Lovegood could have been in one of the groups )being both a distant relative and of the right age) but had declined, stating that it compromise her journalistic integrity, as she was covering the event for _The Quibbler._

After about four run-throughs and two hours, they were starting to get things down right, with a minimum of screaming and stage direction. They were given a lunch break: club sandwiches and pizza Hahn had brought in from a food run. The last was something of a revelation to most of the wedding party, though Sirius and Remus, alone of their age group took it in stride. Harry suddenly realized that sometime over the last few hours it had become Sirius and Remus, not Black and the Professor.

Over the meal Harry discovered a lot about them; both had done a lot of living in the Muggle world (which gave him more of a point of contact with them than he had with most of the men) and strong senses of humor. Sirius was more of a joker, Remus had the art of the Snark down pat. At his suggestion that Snape should have been invited, as an old classmate, the whole table roared with laughter. Evidently even the Slytherins among them felt that the Bat from the Dungeons was not an ideal party guest.

The table with the women seemed to have three sets of discussions going on, with Madam Rosmerta joining in each as she heard something interesting. One of the conversations was in English, one in (to Harry's ears) Latin, and one in something he had no idea. Once a question in that tongue had been directed to the Bride, and she had answered in the same tongue. And just for a moment all the gabble at the table stopped, and all eyes turned to Sirius, and a number of females (some from each age group) looked with intense _interest. _ Then Madam Rosmerta said something else, and laughter broke up the tense moment, and the conversation became general again. The only one who seemed left out of the joke seemed to be the tee-shirt girl, Annette. For just a moment her big grin seemed forced.

When the meal broke up they went back to their set up area. It was out of line of sight of the general guest seating; and it seemed to Harry that what the women, at least, thought was the most important part of the wedding would be taking place there, before any Ministry official was involved at all. The men's part seemed mainly to involve passing around each of the Triads as they slowly circled the Bride and chanted. Each threesome moved, and the men passed weaving in and out around the moving groups. Harry felt that something very old was being done here, after being neglected for a very great while.

During one of pauses Harry glanced over and saw Hahn talking to Annette. She was speaking to him in Spanish (he recognized that ) and he was responding in German. Harry thought again of one of Hermione's complaints, Hogwarts really didn't have any foreign language courses, not even one to compliment Ancient Runes.

For several run throughs things went well, from the circles around circles to the separating of the groups and the movement down to the main table. Then they started to get oddly sloppy. The secret soon came out: several of the men (and women) had started to get bored, and had taken to taking hidden sips from flasks and bottles hidden in their robes. Before things became a complete farce the rehearsal broke up, with reminders on when to show up on the Day, and detailed dressing directions repeated (from the expressions on the ladies faces) on colors to wear, allowable jewelry, and conduct for the night before. Harry fled with a crimson face.

The setting up done, safely free of being dragged into the heavy lifting, Harry wandered over to where Neville was talking with Annette. Harry thought it a bit odd that shy Neville seemed to be so relaxed and talking easily around the girl. She certainly had a strong Yankee accent, with a vocabulary that alternated between teen girl breathless and Hermione obscure. She was really pretty, if a bit thin and short, but who was he to complain about that? Neville gave them a grand tour of the grounds; lawns, copses of trees, several greenhouses and gardens, and at the edge of the estate a smallish pond with a bit of marsh.

It wasn't until she discovered that he knew how to cook and dragged him into the kitchen to help prepare dinner that he noticed that she seemed to have almost no hair at all under her cap, just stubble. He had managed to hear, if not see, enough television to know what that meant. She was deathly ill, a cancer or brain tumor, and had only days to live. On the other hand she was totally energetic, hadn't stopped bouncing around for a moment, and her eyes sparkled with vitality. Then he remembered: it was only television after all. Still, had he missed out on this year's fashion; would he go back to school only to discover that every female head was shiny and bald? He hoped not.

In the kitchen Harry was set to work doing the heavy cutting, with warnings not to let that spice or this shiny red veggie touch his hand of get near his eyes. Not very comforting advice. Annette and Hahn were there too, making something that Harry soon recognized as not very British at all, and not Indian or Chinese (from his memories of occasional left-overs he had scrounged) either. He was content to just do the grunt work and let them dance around flipping, dusting and arguing if the color was right for the next stage. Unlike Privet Drive there was a lot of joking (most of which he didn't really catch, even when it was in English) and a general sense of good humor. Harry noticed that while the other two seemed to know what they were doing, his actual skills were definitely more developed. It turned out that Hahn and Annette had decided that the others had earned a day off from making meals, and were going to give them a chance to just sit down and enjoy themselves for a change.

About ten minutes before everything was ready Harry was kicked out of the kitchen, and told to get the rest of the house population into the dining room. It didn't take much urging as the exotic smells had been stimulating appetites for the last half hour. And so Augusta Longbottom, Julia Rosmerta, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin Neville Longbottom, Alastor Moody and Harry Potter got their first taste of Sonoran Mexican cuisine. It probably wasn't the best ever made, but to the assembled audience it was new, tasty and exciting. Harry wondered why both Annette and Hahn had been calling it "home cooking". For Mrs. Longbottom it was a large group meal that she didn't have to make or clean up after, an added attraction.

Soon they each went to their various destinations, Neville sending them off at the floo urbanely, each with a small personal comment and a smile. He seemed very different, more assured, than he ever did at school. When Hahn and Harry left, his arm firmly gripped by his escort and travel manager, Annette called out: "Drive safe BB, see you back at the place in about an hour right?" To which Hahn gave a nod.

As they were driving back to Harry's least favorite place on earth he turned to Hahn, and asked; "BB?"

"As in Big Brother, my retort would have been Ok, TLS. But I decided not to tick her off by calling her Tiny Little Sister, she really has been on her best behavior with Julia, I want to keep her in a good mood, she's recovering from an operation, and a positive attitude is supposed to help healing."

By the time Harry had been returned to the Dursleys he was sleepy and happy. In a few enough days he would be done with his "family" for a year, and then it was a party (with some of his friends attending), the Quidditch World Cup with the Weasleys, a month at the Burrow, and back to school.

He did have some interesting questions to ponder. Where was Sonora? Did she like him? What had that look the women had given Sirius been about? Did she like him?

There was also the fact that Hahn seemed to be carrying a large piece of something hard in his coat's inside breast pocket. Harry had noticed how the front had moved when Hahn had gotten into the auto. What was it? Still, little mysteries aside, this year had the potential to be the Best Summer Ever.


	31. Chapter 31

I do not own, or receive any benefits, from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 31- Not everything explodes.

The big day opened up clear and a bit warmer. Petunia was almost cordial when Leo came to pick up Harry; she invited him to come in out of the sun, while the "irresponsible" wizard boy got ready. As Harry was down in less than three minutes his degree of irresponsibility seemed, to Leo at least, fairly slight. Families: places of the greatest comfort and the greatest pains.

Harry thought Hahn was a bit overdressed for this time in the morning; jacket and tie over a vest and so on until you got down to his feet, where he was wearing a pair of boots. Highly polished, but still something a lot more practical for a rough day in the woods than the rest of the semi-formal rig Hahn had on. Harry gave Hahn a big grin and a light joking punch in the chest as they got to the car. "Big day, huh!" Yes, there was something weighty and hard localized in an inside breast pocket of the jacket.

As Leo drove them to Grimmauld Place, he thought with satisfaction about Harry's gambit. It was a bit crude and obvious, but it did the job. It was good that Sirius' godson was perceptive. Nothing was as aggravating as being around fools. As they drove Harry chatted on; being upstairs at the Dursleys most of the time meant that he didn't get a chance for much spontaneous conversation, and he was basically a friendly sort. So it came out that his best friend, Hermione (as opposed to his "mate" Ron) wasn't able to come to the wedding as she was with her family touring northern France and those parts of Belgium both her grandfathers had gone through in 1944-45. She wasn't much for the beer her parents told her was world class, but raved about the chips and toppings you could buy from street venders. Leo asked if Harry could get a list of the best towns, perhaps in the future Annette and he could do a "Potato tour of Europe."

Leo was glad when they got to their parking place and had to leave the car. Harry had begun to speculate on who would be in charge of his House's Quidditch team this year, and what tactics they would use. As Leo's sole contact with the sport was having seen a few posters of Viktor Krum on a dorm wall in Salem Mass his knowledge and interest in Quidditch were both low to the point of absence. As a good host he smiled and nodded at the proper times though.

This time Leo kept a good grip on Harry as they went through the floo to Longbottom Manor, sparing him the usual stumble on arrival. Neville wasn't there to greet them; he was at the Portkey arrival point greeting the other guests. After all, he was the official Man of the House, even though his grandmother was running the show, bossing everyone, getting exasperated and having the time of her life.

They put on their formal robes, and Harry went off to the rendezvous point for the Groom's Party, while Leo went to stand in the background near Neville and give him a little moral, clerical and security detail support. That Leo had a loaded and cocked pistol in the hand he had in a pocket of his robe was merely a rational precaution. After all he _did _have the safety on.

For the next hour and a half he was a cheerful shadow, staying in the cool shade and ticking off the guests on a list as they showed up, escorting the occasional gate crashers to an outward only warded floo, with what he hoped was a firm but courteous manner. When the whole list had been checked off he reminded Neville to activate the ward closing off the hole in the Manor's security, and went with him to their places for the ceremony.

Molly Weasley glanced left and right; keeping her brood in line was no easy task. Well, Arthur on her right, and Bill on the left were no trouble; she smiled at her eldest son. Ron had wanted to go up and hang out with Harry, but Ginny had thrown a hissy-fit saying that he couldn't go near the boy if she couldn't. Ron had replied that it shouldn't matter, as she never really talked to him anyway. So now they were sitting next to each other and smoldering. The Twins were the worst dangers of all. She had to make sure that they had no chance to get anywhere near the food or the toilets. What those boys could do to plumbing was frightening to contemplate.

Of course the family couldn't have passed up the invitation. Sirius had been close to Arthur in the old days, and this _was_ the social event of the summer. Still, Molly felt that bringing her innocent daughter to a wedding where the bride was in a state she should only be in seven months or more after the honeymoon was shocking. Molly knew she would have gossip for her friends for the rest of the year from the general situation alone. Merlin knows what delic… scandalous things would happen when the partying really got started and the Firewhiskey flowed like water.

Ron was annoyed that he hadn't gotten a chance to say hello to Harry and catch up for a few minutes, as there had been plenty of time before they had to get to their seats. Ginny had been quiet around Harry up at school, but the way she had wanted to go up to him today seemed to say that her crush was a long way from being a thing of the past.

Ginny hoped that Harry was learning the right lessons from today: that you didn't have to wait until a silly ceremony to express your affection to someone. Lots of higher grade students had girlfriends only one year below them at school. It was almost an obligation for the older party to educate and lead the younger, innocent one. And if Harry was as clueless as she thought, she was alright with giving him the proper study aides.

Fred and George were on their best behavior. They were perfectly happy not to disrupt a wedding out of general respect. Plus they were a little afraid of what Black would do to them if they were caught doing anything. The man had survived ten years in Azkaban, he was seriously tough. They were bold, not stupid.

Luna Lovegood did not have on a small and eerie smile on her face; it was more huge and maniacal. Interviews arranged with both Principles, including photos. Information on gowns, robes, decorations and catering. Seeing That Skeeter Woman intercepted when she tried to crash the wedding, and sent packing. Finding out that Mr. Corvus' death had been greatly exaggerated, and that he had remembered her. Seeing Aunty Julia looking so happy. All in all, the day couldn't be going any better. Being the Pool Reporter for _The Quibbler, The Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, _and _Teen Witch _meant that one job of reporting was going to give her four bylines, and four paychecks. Hurray for Love!

Kingsley Shacklebolt was enjoying himself. It was a fine day, the ceremony would be short, and from the looks of it the party to follow would be wild. Hahn had made an appointment with him for their little talk early next week, and at least two unattached witches had given him a look that he knew meant that he wouldn't be lonely in a crowd tonight. The big question: her, or her, or could he swing it…?

Remus Lupin gratefully accepted a cold glass of something from Annette. He had never expected to see Sirius in such a funk. Seeing the boldest of his friends worrying that his seven months pregnant fiancée would leave him at the altar was funny, of course. Still, it was his job to keep Sirius from collapsing until at least _after _the marriage was official, and he was serious about it. The number of members of the wedding party (both genders) who had been trying to slip Sirius a little something "fortifying" to buck him up meant that it was either constant vigilance, or a thoroughly drunken groom would stumble through the ceremony. Or worse than stumble.

Augusta Longbottom had rarely seen such an auspicious occasion. The bride was beautiful and obviously fertile, the groom suitably grateful he was marrying such a paragon, the weather fine, and things were being done in the right, old fashioned way, something almost always neglected nowadays. Only to be expected when a Rosmerta was being married, after all. So many of them had skipped the formalities in the last few generations: such a bother the younglings said. Well, Julia was pointing the way to a proper rebirth of tradition. Neville had taken to his duties as official Head of the Family with surprising ease and effectiveness. Oddly that was one of the few sad parts of the day, she so wanted to see Frank and Alice standing there congratulating him on how well he was doing.

Rita Skeeter was not having a good day. She hadn't been able to slip into the wedding. When the young thug who had been escorting her to the one way floo had turned his back for a moment her transformation to a beetle had still been detected. And when she had turned back to human he had tried to date her up! Alright, he had been charming in a way, but it would have been like robbing the cradle. And he had sent her back to her office at the _Prophet _anyway. Perhaps next time she should be willing to put a little up front? The interest had been sincere and, frankly, flattering.

**From page 8 of the July 17****th**** 1994 edition of **_**Witch Weekly,**_** Luna Lovegood reporting:**

**The tall (6'2") and handsome Groom waited near the head table, his supporting party, including his Best Man (Remus Lupin) and his Godson (Harry James Potter) ably fulfilling their function of preventing any reckless swain from trying to abduct the lovely Bride.**

** To the sound of the opening measures of Thurmann's Third March Julia Rosmerta came down the aisle, surrounded by the traditional three Triads of Fate (listing for both Bride's and Groom's parties on page 38). She was wearing a Malkin Special in her old House colors of green and black, subtly accenting her gravid majesty. Her jewelry, besides heirloom pieces in jet and coral, included some of the fabled Black Family collection (pictures of the jewelry on page 36). It brought a tear to the eye of this hardened reporter to see the pure joy on her Groom's face when she took his hand.**

** Recorder Winlock Bulstrode of the Wizengamot preformed the needed formalities and inscribed the Ministry authentication on their Marriage contract. No challenges were made to the events and the Marriage is now on file at the Ministry.**

** The Triads then preformed a lovely hymn in Goedelic Pictish as the happy couple took their seats. The Groom's party then took up their duty of telling 'humorous' anecdotes (selected examples on page 43). Mr. Lupin's only fault was that actually told stories hat had a point and were actually funny. Mr. Potter's example was heart-warming. For the rest go to page 43.**

** The food, supervised by Madame Longbottom, catered by the staff of the Three Broomsticks of Hogsmead, was varied, delightful and abundant. The drink was even more so (bartender's hints on page 51).**

Harry was stuffed and overstuffed from the meal. He had, except for a wedding toast or two, kept away from the alcoholic stuff. He wanted to avoid making a fool of himself at this big wizarding party. Getting drunk for the first time in his life would have just been asking for disaster. When the pace of serving slowed up, and the music began again, he found himself grabbed up by one of the Nymphs from Julia's party and dragged out onto the flagstone patio that was being used as a dance floor. While he didn't know any real wizarding dancing he was light enough on his feet (and the witch forgiving enough) that it was really fun. When that dance was done he was asked again by another pretty witch. Many of the younger set had drifted over to the floor; he actually saw Neville and Millicent Bulstrode of Slytherin doing fairly well during one of the slow sets.

When that one was over he excused himself and went looking for Ron. If he was going to make himself a fool on the dance floor (even if he was enjoying it) Ron would have to also. After a bit Harry found Ron at the Weasley table. He was just toying with his third dessert, and didn't object to getting up and doing some circulating. By this time formal robes were no longer being worn, and the grounds were looking like a garden with perambulating posies.

"Mate, a word of warning. Now it isn't Forge's fault, I swear it! They've been on their best behavior. Just Ginny's been going around and salvaging a few half finished drinks that people have been abandoning, so she just might be a bit tiddly, and I think she still has a thing for you. So as her brother I'm asking you; could you not take advantage of the situation? Glad we got that clear, mate. Who's that bird coming over?"

Harry wasn't sure, until she got close enough to see that it was Annette, with a long set of blond locks with small flowers woven in. She grinned at him, grabbed her front bang and lifted it up.

"Hi Harry. Just a wig, until things grow in again! Who's your tall friend?"

"Ron Weasley, don't let his face fool you, he's housebroken. Ron, this is Annette Hahn, she's a Yank, lives in Mexico I think. Don't mind her detachable hair, it's some sort of a foreign custom, I think."

By now the girl had gotten between them, and grabbed each by the arm. "Not too shabby, Sherlock. Had an operation last month, had to get my head shaved, all fixed now. I decided that I'd be a sexy blond today, I knew I'd meet some interesting men." She smiled up at both of them. Ron was a little overwhelmed by her energy, and put up no resistance as she half led, half dragged them back to the dancing area.

**From the July 15****th**** edition of **_**Teen Witch**_** columnist-Luna Lovegood:**

**The music was constant, with a nice mixture of fast and furious and slow with very tight grappling. The number of eligibles was mouth watering, with HP leading the pack, of course. He had been buzzing around and spreading his joy earlier in the afternoon, but as the day started to leave, he and RW seemed to be having a contest on who would claim the most attention from an exotic mystery woman. Results are not yet in, hope remains for the rest of us!**

For the next hour, as the sun slowly went down behind the tall trees and began to cast long shadows, they danced with each other, people they knew, and complete strangers. When they finally decided at the same time, synchronized by some unseen and unknown force, to take a break, Annette managed to grab each of them a glass of Champaign from one of the waiters wandering by. Then they went off under the cool trees.

Ron was surprised to find someone who treated Harry and him the same. Even though she had met Harry before, and he was… well he was just Ron Weasley. She was having a great time and dancing with him as much, laughing (and groaning) at his jokes the same way as she did with Harry's. Enjoying the company of plain Ron Weasley as much as Harry Potter

Ron knew he had a problem with Harry. No matter that Harry didn't ever rub things in (and probably didn't even know), there was a basic difference between them. Harry was a Potter, and worse he was Harry Potter. Ron was a Weasley, and no matter how equal all wizards were supposed to be (except for Muggle born, of course) there were basic social differences between them. That Harry was also an ace Quidditch Seeker, did better (when he tried to) at class work and could charm (again, when he tried to) the birds out of the trees didn't help much either. Honestly, Ron often didn't see why Hermione and Harry put up with him. And now there was another one, a pretty girl with a world of bounce, who though Ron Weasley was fun? Interesting?

When they were perhaps fifty yards in past the tree line they stopped and began to sip their 'Champers'. Harry and Ron began to do impressions of some of their professors, classmates and outright enemies. Even though Annette didn't know the individuals the types were universal, and she matched the boys in laughing. Luscious Lucius went over particularly well. As they finished laughing at that Harry saw Ginny wandering around and gave a shout out and waved to show her where they were.

She didn't come toward them in a direct line; she seemed to be taking tacks, like some sailing ship in a storm. Ron didn't like that; Ginny was hot tempered at the best of times. If she was drunk too, it couldn't be good. He left Annette's side to give Ginny an arm to lean on. Which all goes to prove that even when Ron was being brotherly it still sent the wrong message to Ginny. For now Ginevra, instead of seeing a circle of friends joking with each other, saw a girl with a button or two of her blouse undone (to cool off a bit after the dancing) far too close to Her Harry! And her meddling brother was pretending she needed help walking! As she got closer to them, pulling her arm out of Ron's grip with a jerk, she saw Her Harry lean over to the obvious artificial blond and whispering something that made her giggle like a harpy, or something. That was the last straw.

"Get away from him, you old Hag!"

A pulse of raw magic, propelled by the powerful emotions of a strong, but young witch, flew out from Ginny's mouth and struck the interloping girl. She began to change, evidently painfully. Her face began to become bony, elongated, and covered with creased greenish skin. She screamed as the change began to spread over the rest of her body, and then turned her limbs into twisted sticks.

Ginny smiled; served the whore right! With all the wild magic she had expended (and a lot of 120 proof rum) her legs gave out, and she fell to her knees. Conveniently she was near enough to Harry to grab him around the waist. Well, actually a bit lower than the waist, but certainly above his knees. Yes, right about _there._

"Annette, are you Ok?"

"Oh God, I want to die!" Annette replied in a deep, rusty, and creaking voice.

"Ginny, turn her back!" Ron yelled.

"Never, never, stay that way forever, yeah!"

"Harry, I think I'll get Mum, she's gotten very good with reversing curses, what with Fred and George around the house so much and all."

"Yes Ron, I think that's a good idea. Ginny, please get your face out of my… trousers."

"Oh God no, oh God no."

"Hurry Ron, please, I think Annette is unhappy. Ginny, really, please get your face out of my crotch."

Ron was a fast moving blob at the far end of a trail of dust and disturbed leaves by then. Annette hadn't been teasing, hadn't even had a chance to say hello, when Ginny had cursed her. This could get very bad very fast if it wasn't cleared up quickly. He remembered that Annette had a brother somewhere around here. What would Fred or George do to someone who had done something like this to their sister out of the blue?

For the last five years, at least. Leo had been training himself to protect his sister and brother from danger. When you felt that the most likely source of that danger was living in the same house as the rest of the family that meant that you were always listening, at least a little, for the one yell of pain they might get out before they were silenced. He had just heard that yell. His 13-second time for the hundred meter dash was the time for a "fair" attempt. No Teek to lengthen your strides or lift you over obstructions. Liz yelling meant that "fair" was not going to be involved in his reaching her. Maximum speed, obstacles shoved out of the way before they slowed you down.

He arrived to see Harry backed up against a tree with a girl… he almost politely left at that point, until he saw a huddled form crying behind them. The noises it was making didn't really sound like Liz, but he felt he had to investigate. If Harry's romantic interlude was ruined, well there would be others he was sure. As he went by them he noticed two things.

1-Harry's pants were still zipped.

2-Harry was desperately trying to pry the girl at his feet away from his groin.

"Otto, Annette is behind me, she may want to speak to you. Ginny, stop!"

"Sis, are you all right?"

"Go away, kill me, something. Just go away."

"Ah, Mr. Hahn, Ron's gone to get someone who can fix this up. Ginny didn't mean to do it, really. Ginny, don't grab me there!"

"See Sis, almost fixed already! Positive attitude! Forward momentum!" He reached down and lifted her up. He had once been eyeball to rotting eyeball with a four-month dead zombie; he didn't flinch when he saw what his sister looked like. That helped settle Liz down; she wasn't going to be rejected, and she wasn't without hope.

"I trust this young… lady in front of you is Ginny? Ginevra Weasley I expect?"

He saw Harry nod. The next second Ginny was ripped away from Harry, and was dangling two feet off the ground whimpering as she felt two intense points of pain supporting all of her body weight.

Now to just pick someone up and rip their arms and legs off, unless you're talking about a very small child of course, you should really be a Teek 5. You need a lot of power to do a straightforward grab and pull. A decent Teek 4 just doesn't have the direct power. But if you Sie into the person's body (if you have the talent and time to do this) and think of them like a chicken you are cutting up for dinner, you notice that simply severing a very few tendons and ligaments at the right joints will let the bones just pop out of their sockets! And then it's all so easy to cut off the right pieces of skin and the job is done. Barbeque sauce is optional, but frowned upon. Leo was currently trying to calm himself down enough to not disarm, de-leg, and decapitate Ginevra Weasley. He had her pinned in mid-air at just the right points to begin her transformation into assorted people pieces.

He saw a small group of people approaching, and belatedly got out his "wand." Now that he thought of it, Harry would have been an inconvenient witness also. Anyways, it was just plain sloppy to have to start killing witnesses. If Liz could be fixed up quickly he'd avoid excessive violence, just try to make the young witch _wish _she was dead.

Molly Weasley followed closely after Ron, giving him an earful. It was obvious this was all his fault. The adults (which included Bill) were going around doing adult things. Fred and George couldn't be expected to look after a garden gnome, much less a sister. So, it had been obvious that instead of talking with his friends and going around dancing Ron should have been keeping an eye on Ginny. That she had commented to Arthur how nice he was acting a half an hour ago had been put down the memory hole by this time.

When she reached her suspended daughter she barked out: "All right! Who's doing this? Get her down right now!"

A young man she vaguely remembered seeing earlier in the day replied calmly: "Are you sure that's wise? She seems quite a dangerous character to me." He insolently had his left hand in his outside jacket pocket. But then he shrugged, moved his wand and let Ginny gently down onto the ground. She immediately reached for her wand (now that she knew it wasn't Harry who had put her up in the air) and pointed it at the interloper and began to say "Bat Boogey…."

Before she had finished her hand was pointing up into the trees above her, menacing a completely innocent squirrel. Molly's eyes narrowed. The man was fast; she'd give him that, but had to learn that you don't attack her family.

"Miss Weasley attacked the young lady behind me, cursing her. I naturally came as soon as possible to render all aid I could to my sister, Annette."

Molly could see that this was going bad; he must be one of those who go cold when they get angry. And he was defending a family member also. Ginny trying to hex him the first thing wasn't going to make things easier either. "My _daughter _was, I'm sure, only defending herself from you foreigners!"

"Well, ah, actually Mrs. Weasley, Ginny just came up and hexing away without any reason, right from the start." Harry pointed out.

"Afraid so, Mum. Not a even a harsh word exchanged and Ginny was throwing curses."

There, that was exactly what was wrong with Ron! He had trouble keeping his priorities straight! Such trivialities like literal truth could always be brought up in private, if they really mattered at all. The real trouble was Harry, though. It seemed he wouldn't see things were arranged that the Greater Good (bless Albus for teaching her this principle) would prevail. And now Bill had come up and he had been working with goblins and other untrustworthy folk, picking up strange notions. He just wasn't completely reliable anymore. Perhaps she could distract him.

"Bill, why don't you see what you can do with that poor girl?" Putting her out of her misery sounded about right to Molly, but who knew what a man would do? Meanwhile it was high time to put this evil foreigner in his place, no Weasley should ever back down to some… stranger!

"Don't you give me any of your lip, mister! We're respectable British wizards, and my husband works for the ministry and can have you locked up in a minute!"

Arthur didn't look any too happy with his description of his powers. He knew, though, that when Molly was on a roll you just had to wait her out.

Meanwhile, Harry, Ron, and Bill had gone around to the other side of Leo, and being out of the direct line of fire were trying to figure how to restore the Hag into a girl. Being a curse-breaker Bill was impressed by how much power Ginny had put into her curse. Luckily, there hadn't been a bit of actual skill involved. Harry and Ron had managed to stifle their urge to flee at the sight of the girl, and were holding her disgusting hands and trying to calm her down.

"And don't you try to blame anything on my daughter, she's a good girl!"

Leo was a little distracted right then, there was a delicate piece of Teek he was doing that needed an exact touch. Ah, there!

"Though she must cost you a lot in lost underwear, I expect." He looked down to guide everyone's eyes.

There, around her ankles were her panties, resting on top of her shoes. On seeing this, Ginny smiled over to Harry and said; "Don't waste your time with her darling, can't you see I'm ready?" Then, under Leo's gentle turning motion via Teek, she was faced around to her mother, and (with a tiny little poke at her already upset stomach) proceeded to begin a complete emptying of her stomach via vomiting. Onto Molly. With loud retching sounds. For the next several minutes.

"Molly's side of the family never could hold their liquor," Arthur said.

As a talented professional Bill found the key point to attack the Hag curse without too much trouble. He then peeled it off in one, smooth, painless series of spells. Leo turned to check on something that he should have done at the moment he had arrived there. The contacts in Liz's head were all in place, and all the connecting wires were undamaged and undisturbed. He gave a sigh of relief. He gave his cover name, and thanked the curse-breaker, and then he led Liz back to the bar. He figured it was time to relax the two drink maximum he had given her.

Molly led Ginny off a little ways for some privacy. She needed a chance to try to clean up her dress. And not least Ginny needed a talk about proper romantic manners. It was not done in Britain to drop your panties to your interest in public. Perhaps on a vacation to Spain you could get away with it, but not in Britain, and not in public!

Ron led Harry off a bit in the other direction. He thought about what he had seen that afternoon, climaxing with Ginny removing undergarments so that whey wouldn't be in the way. And he had been worried _Harry _would be out of control!

"Mate, about you coming over to the Burrow for the rest of the summer."

"I know; bad idea. I thought that she was over me."

"Ginny never did give up very easy, on anything. I just don't want to have to be on call rescuing you; otherwise I'd really like to have you over. What would you do for the rest of your summer though? I can't see you wanting to spend any more time with those Muggle relatives of yours than you already have to."

"You've got it right in one there. But I'm getting these images of waking up tied naked to a bed, and Ginny doing a striptease above me. Not the way I'd imagined becoming an experienced fellow. Best I ask Sirius or Lupin or Neville to take me in. If not, there are any number of bridges I wouldn't mind sleeping under to get away from the Dursleys. One way or another it'll work out. I'll owl you as soon as I'm sure of what's up."

Harry went off to find Sirius, Ron to find his family and find out what he had done wrong this time. As he went past the dancing terrace a fair-haired young lady took his arm and whispered into his ear: "Ronald, wouldn't it be better to have a clear conscience, and a friend who can control the stories that will be the official record of today? Why don't we dance a while, and you tell me all the facts that we can select among to print?"

**On** **page 2 of the July 14****th****, 1994 edition of **_**The Quibbler**_**, byline by Luna Lovegood:**

**The Rosmerta/Black festivities were also marked by good music, energetic dancing and those delightful games and sports of the most appropriate kinds for such a joyous occasion. There were the occasional minor altercations that any wizardly gathering would be dull without. But in the end most partings were on good terms, and who knows how many liaisons will grow out of romantic meetings at was undoubtedly the high point of the social season?**


	32. Chapter 32

I do not own, or receive any benefit from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 32-One week later

Harry Potter listed the summer's shortcomings.

True: Sirius and Julia were away at some mysterious paradise having a low impact (reasonable considering Julia's condition) Honeymoon. True: Remus was going into seclusion to deal with his "little furry problem." Afterwards he would be off searching for another job, having only been hired for one year as DADA instructor. True: he would be missing quality time with Ron at the Quidditch Cup.

On the other hand, he'd be staying at MFC Central and that place was safe enough (he was told) that he could freely get out and _wouldn't have to pay for skimpy meals by doing all the chores and work around the house._ Annette would be there. He wouldn't have to dodge Ginny; she had been alright to be around until he'd seen the hidden side of her. Now, he wanted some definite distance between them until things cooled down. But most of all he was out of Prison Dursley for the rest of the year. Maybe that was his first reason repeated, but so what? It was good enough for him.

Still, when he came down the stair dragging his trunk behind him and saw Otto sitting down in the parlor and drinking tea with Aunt Petunia and making her laugh, it was disturbing. Especially as he was telling her about certain incidents from the wedding (thankfully not the infamous Potter-Weasley-Hahn confrontation), and getting her to burst out with, "Just like something out of Jane Austin!"

"At least as bad, or is it good? And then all the Aunties and all the Mothers began to cluster in knots and talk in code about who to match up with whom, and assuming that all their plans from the last bun-fight had had to be re-worked."

As soon as she noticed Harry there Petunia stiffened, and started to gather up the tea things. Otto said his good-bys and helped Harry out with his trunk and Hedwig's cage. They were able to get the trunk into the boot, and the cage into the rear seat. Then it was an hour of back country road driving until they pulled up a drive at a largish house near Alton, Hampshire. Annette ran out, gave each a hug, and directed Harry's settling in. Somehow, having a young and pretty girl giving him orders was a lot easier to deal with than his Aunt's endless sneers and complaints. He even accepted the fact that he would have to pitch in a bit around the place. But first there was poking around the house, the grounds, going swimming with Annette, shopping at the local village, playing scrabble, and other important things. Harry decided that things could be worse. Especially since the siblings had decided that Annette would be his swimming tutor when they went down to the old canal that bordered the place on one side.

Sirius Black was on a beach, covered only in a protective coating of a lotion suggested by his contacts in the MFC. As was his wife, Julia Rosmerta-Black. They would put more on when they went into the town that evening for dinner at the dockside restaurant that served the best fish either had ever eaten. All done by Muggles; who would have thought of it?

Severus Snape woke up to the morning light streaming into the windows of his hotel room. The bed was empty next to him. Last night's companion had slipped out. Well, he'd probably see her at breakfast before they hit the slopes again. How strange that he'd never cared much for broom-flying, but skiing made him feel he was free of all cares. Free of his past, and of his mistakes. The feel of the wind and ice crystals cutting at his cheeks was cleansing. And while he certainly wasn't "Severus the Party Animal," at least he didn't have to be "The Beast from the Dungeons." Sometimes wearing that mask was just too tiring. He blessed the day he discovered that he could ski all season while Hogwarts had its summer holidays, as long as he did in on the South Island of New Zealand.

Kingsley Shacklebolt clocked out from the Ready Room. A quick trip home to freshen up, and then dinner at the Royale to celebrate Alastor's birthday. For the evening at least he could forget the reports of a new sort of beast with razor arms invading homes, of the Dark lord who must not be named still being around (that was Albus' pet obsession), and of someone trying to get copies of the complete investigation notes from the Black Assault Case. He wondered if the mole in the Department would even believe how mundane the situation had really turned out to be. Shacklebolt had always wondered if the was something between Squibs and Wizards, Hahn had erased that mystery for him. It had also cleared up where Muggle entertainer Magicians came from. Smoke and mirrors, with just one part in a hundred of magic. There had been no real reason to include that tidbit in the official files. In the long run, though, a web of new contacts in the Muggle world might come in handy. Tonight though… tonight was just for good friends and good drink!

Draco Malfoy was flying, with Greg and Vince doing their best to Bludger him out of the sky. He couldn't say it "hurt good" when they connected, but every day he could see himself getting a little better, his eyes a little sharper. He wasn't really doing this to beat Potter anymore. It was a search for the outer limit of Draco now.

Albert Fermi looked down onto his sleeping daughter. The new medications and the meditation exercises the Greens had been teaching her seemed to be helping her a great deal. The side effects were far less than from the older meds. Luci had been born too empathic; she couldn't filter out other people's emotions, and every time she was out in public she risked being overwhelmed by all the feelings of the people in the area. Liz Green had been a godsend. Being a Shell meant that nothing leaked out; finally Luci could have friend that didn't wear her out with every mood and emotion. Fermi had been half-hoping that Liz's matchmaking attempts with Leo would work. As he was a Shell too, it meant his daughter could have had a semi-normal home life. That hadn't panned out, so medication would have to do. At least the derivatives of the Japanese drug seemed to tone down her Psi without giving her that horrible depression her old stuff had. He smiled a little. Liz had been sending e-mail to Luci like clockwork, and her adventures in England had kept Luci giggling for hours.

Thomas M. Riddle settled a little deeper into the mind and soul of his latest possessed slave. Though he didn't admit it to anyone else he was enjoying the great game he was playing with Dumbledore. Certainly there were setbacks; that would just make the prize worth more when he finally won it. Soon he would begin to pull the invisible strings of power he had over his little Death Eaters. How they dreamed of power, purity and… There must be another p-word to use. Punishment. The body laughed a little. Power? Did they really think he would share real power? Purity? Half-blooded Tom might end up killing more Pure Bloods than Mud Bloods. It would all depend on what he needed to do from moment to moment. Punishment? Oh yes, there would be a lot of that. Left, right, and center there would be punishment. For those who opposed him, for those who tried to be neutral, for those who failed him with their weakness. And he would punish those who endangered him by their strength. Lots of punishment on the horizon, for all.

Miura Chuko read the results of the test. The Arrangement was a success; she was pregnant with the first child of the Heir. The Children of Fire were now tied forever with the Permanent Rulers (no matter what any election said), joined by blood and mutual oaths. She wondered if anyone but herself really realized how powerful those oaths were. It had been a long time since someone really connected to the spirits had been involved with secular rulers. The last time such oaths had been broken two hundred years of war had followed. This time the wording on the agreements was better, she thought. Uncle Daisuke had written them up, the Normals (she liked the AGER way of referring to non-psi people) had thought they had gotten a unique secret weapon for use at home and overseas. What the oaths really said was almost exactly the reverse. Tanaka Daisuke had both prospered and been an honest man in government service for the last thirty years; only the most cunning could pull that off. The Permanent Rulers would get a bit of a surprise if they attempted to make themselves too unpleasant this time.

Suddenly she felt an urge to go to the Ever Burning Fire in the inner courtyard. When she hurriedly knelt in front of the flames a vision appeared, without all the ceremony and waiting that usually was required. The Serpent with a Lion's Mane swam into a nest of Scorpions. He coiled around them, and evaded their stings. She saw the Sun rising, and the vision faded into the mere wild flickering of fire. Sometimes she got a little tired of the Sprits trying to be so smugly mysterious. She knew exactly who this was about, though not _what _it was about. She pulled out her notebook and pencil from her kimono sleeve, and quickly wrote up her message, noticing that the Sprits had slipped in an actual address in a completely normal form into her memory. That just confirmed her theory that they just liked to mess with her mind a lot of the time.

She made sure to put her special mark, a cartoonish monkey, on both the envelope and the message inside, and summoned the older female attendant on duty. She instructed her to go to the local post office, now! And make sure that there was enough postage on it for fast international delivery. Miura Chuko might be only fifteen, but she had been running a respected temple with a firm hand for a third of her life, and knew that when you absolutely, positively wanted something to be done right then, you had to be very clear with your instructions, and be obviously ready to do some polite butt-kicking if someone screwed up.

Yes, after the baby was born she would move in with Uncle Daisuke and Auntie (their daughters had both moved out) and live, at least for a while, a normal girl's life. Dates and friends and maybe even foreign travel. She'd like to visit the Greens; when Liz wasn't being a dragon guarding her brother she was a lot of fun.

Hermione Granger read the message Hedwig had just dropped off besides her. The instructions of how she would be getting to where Harry was seemed very secret agent-ish. This day, this time, take this road, then that one (ignoring the sign posts) and then the other. It seemed like Harry was playing along with Black's obsession with a secret organization of Men from Cathay. Well, she had to admit that at least some of them could cook pretty well, beyond that it was an obvious paranoid delusion. Compared to most of those she'd seen wizards having (baring Lovegood, who was delusional but hardly paranoid), not too nasty, but still a delusion.

She did sort of regret missing the Wedding, but her parents were almost desperate to have some uninterrupted time with her, doing special things. She couldn't break their hearts by making them cancel the family's annual big trip. To be honest she had also been a little nervous about having to be sociable at a big wizarding function. She had never been socially accomplished, or the life of the party. From what Ron had written her she wasn't sure if she would have been having the time of her life, or spent all her time ducking curses thrown by inebriated stalkers. It would have been exciting though. Even she had gotten a little tired of art galleries and museums by the third week of the trip.

Seeing the places her grandfathers had been shot at, or even shot, had given her a strange feeling. Some places had war memorials: sometimes plaques with dates and names, sometimes things like tanks in the village square with holes punched in them and scorch marks preserved where they had been hit and burned. And Grandpa Mike or Grandpa Tom had been in _this_ town, and gone through_ this_ square, and it could have been them in _that _burned out tank. It made her think. War: people died in wars. She suspected they (Harry, and that meant Ron, and her too) were in a war.

But Harry's letter, with all its dramatic instructions, was actually full of sun, and swimming and meeting people and finally being able to walk around with no Dursleys, Snapes, or even worse, Malfoys. The letter had made a particular point to "bring your swimsuit." Hermione smiled at that; she knew that she was filling out her swimsuits much better this year than she had last. Someone was going to get a very pleasant surprise.


	33. Chapter 33

I do not own, or receive any benefit from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 33-Murphy's Law

The plan was, of course, perfect. Albus Dumbledore had set it up to seamlessly run to his desired end. Harry was at the Dursleys until day X, then at the Weasleys (smart move there Albus, giving Arthur those Quidditch Cup tickets, Harry would never resist them), and back to Hogwarts. The only possible fly in the ointment had been Sirius, and from Miss Lovegood's reporting the newly-married Happy Couple had gone for a prolonged and very _private _Honeymoon at an undisclosed location. A conversation he had with Remus had informed the Headmaster that only two had been Portkeyed to a sand and sun paradise, and that Harry had been brought back to the Dursleys to complete his "magical ward recharging," and despite reluctance at that had agreed to spend his full term there. All that confirmation had cost Albus had been a letter of reference for Remus that he had been planning on writing anyway.

Now it was time for Britain's most famous and essential wizard to finalize a few details on other matters that were coming to a head. Triwizard Tournaments don't organize their amended rules themselves. His little trip to the continent would also allow him to do the subtle spell casting that would allow him to more than double the chances of Hogwarts producing the champion. When something is unused for over two hundred years the spells on it tended to get a bit frayed, and frayed spells could always be repaired in newer and more pleasing ways. The really hard part would be making sure that the Masters of the other schools didn't detect his manipulations on the basic spells of the Goblet of Fire. It was a good thing he was Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the best there was. Being both Host and Master of the winning school would once again let everyone know that simple fact. Fame, like spells, needed constant attention and maintenance, and Albus had never been too lazy to do the constant labor needed to keep his medals bright and in everyone's eyes. Cedric would be the winner, Harry would be the helper, and everyone would know that Headmaster Dumbledore had prepared those students (and by implication _their_ children) with the best magical education in the world. Which meant of course, Europe.

He had only a few weeks to do his traveling, meetings, sneaking and spell castings. To do all that and prepare for the coming term would be a bit of a rush. Minerva would do her bit of course, as would the others. Luckily it was pretty much the Holiday season for all government offices too, and being out of touch wouldn't mean much for the next month or so. In fact, the opportunity to needle Igor Karkaroff alone was worth the whole trip. There would be no better way to find out if Tom had been in touch with his old companions than a lot of Firewhiskey (or Vodka) and a few pricks of a verbal stiletto to provoke spontaneous declarations.

Harry Potter woke up early enough to begin preparing a hearty breakfast for five Dursleys. He always made double portions for Dudders and Uncle Vernon. He hoped that he'd have a chance to get out of the habit before going back to school, summer holidays were supposed to be a chance to pick up lazy habits after all. There was no pounding on the door, no angry voices coming through it. It was so very not Privet Drive, it was so very good for just that reason. He pulled on a pair of pants and some socks and shoes and went downstairs to see if there was anyone else up.

When he got to the kitchen there were sounds of people doing something strenuous outside. He went to the door to the yard and looked out. Annette was being attacked by Otto, and twisting and throwing him to the ground, then landing on his chest and punching the ground next to his head. Then they got up and did it all over again. Or else something else quick and violent with kicks and punches. Though he couldn't catch the words he heard Otto say something in a harsh tone to Annette, her next kick was hard, and very mean, but Otto somehow managed to evade a broken kneecap.

As Harry went out to see if he could figure out what was happening he heard Otto say "Good, if you cripple him it will give you time to run off. But don't ever slack off on your hits, Tai Chi gives you time to think, so think about how you're going to get out of the situation." Ah, it was only some sort of kung fu thing; he knew people did that for exercise. In fact, both the siblings were covered with a coat of sweat; Harry had to admit it looked better on Annette. Annette smiled at him, over Otto's shoulder. Otto gave them their marching orders; Annette was to take him for a morning swim down at the canal, if they got back in 45 minutes they wouldn't find their breakfasts cold. Unless it was going to be corn flakes.

Annette laughed and ran up to get her suit, Harry went to get his out of his trunk, and met her on the stairs going down. She lifted her wrist to show a waterproof watch, and set out toward the canal at a run, it was hard for Harry to keep up. Quidditch never used any of the muscles he was in need of now.

They hit the edge of the canal in a tie, and both jumped in with a huge splash. Harry had to admit that he wasn't really that much of a swimmer, and Annette turned all serious and drill sergeant on him; once again the difference between a cute girl and a horse faced nagger made all the difference on how eagerly he accepted criticism and tasks. As the water was only about four and a bit feet deep he didn't feel out of his depth, even though his only previous experiences swimming had been twice in a public pool three years or so ago. She demonstrated, he copied, she corrected and demonstrated again, and he improved. It was really how he tended to learn the best anyway, his body being a quicker study than his mind.

It wasn't until she pulled herself up onto the bank and told him it was time for breakfast did he notice she was in a two piece suit. He had _seen_ that before, but now he _noticed. _There was nothing revealing, like some of the magazines that he had seen smuggled into school. Maybe it was the way it clung when wet. She was hardly a buxom swimsuit model, but she was not going to be mistaken for a boy either. They walked back with towels over their shoulders, and she warned him that they were going to get pancakes, because that was what her brother made when he was trying to make a breakfast that someone else would volunteer to eat.

The table set up outside, with pancakes, bacon, coffee and orange juice proved that she knew her brother well. The most disturbing thing was the way he kept on jumping up to get them seconds of things from inside and being a little over attentive. "A guest is a gift from God." Otto said. Annette bounced back with; "After three days you'll stop being a guest, and that's when he'll get you doing the heavy lifting around here."

"You've been here more than three days, Sis. So the dishes are all yours."

She just smiled, put a look of concentration on her face and walked off to kitchen with the dishes and silverware following her gently floating in two stacks. She flipped open the door and disappeared inside.

"It's not easy you know; the weight isn't so much, but it's hard to keep things from slipping off the piles."

Harry hoped that Otto hadn't noticed how he had been studying how the wet suit bottom had clung to her. This was definitely not Dursley World. It was like the Burrow, though without Mrs. Weasley's affectionate but sometimes clinging hospitality. And without Ginny. Ginny as either a stalking mouse or a raging harpy was enough to make his joke about being desperate enough to camp in the woods or under a bridge more than half the truth. Well, his hosts were certainly doing their bit; it was time for him to contribute.

"Do you want me to do anything with Annette today?"

"Don't hurt her on purpose."

Harry slid off his chair and hit the ground. He looked for a smile on Otto's face, and didn't find one. This could be very bad.

"But otherwise you two could go into town and get some groceries; she'll know what we need. You have a friend coming over in a couple of days? Right, air out a room and put some fresh linen down. And I expect you to do some studying; Sirius was very firm on that."

Otto took out a small folding knife from his pocket, looked at the various options it offered, and selected the smallest blade. He began to use it to clean under his fingernails. He continued talking, without quite looking at Harry.

"I don't expect you not to be a healthy teenager, just be reasonable about it. I'm going to try to be a protective brother, not an _over-_protective brother. You know, I never really expected to see some guy checking out my sister's butt. I'm not as mellow about it as I sound, but she's just going to get more attention from now on, and better she finds her limits with someone who's, well like you, than some bad-boy rebellion type. Not that I'm mocking you, or putting out a challenge. I'm sure that you can get in more trouble than makes any sense; I just don't think you'll try to be bad to her. I wouldn't be surprised if something happened. Just keep it in limits."

Harry wasn't sure what to make with that. He accepted Otto's hand for getting up, and walked, dazed, into the house to get changed. As he went through the kitchen, and saw Annette hard at work. He told her about the shopping, and enjoyed the smile she gave on being told it would be just the two of them doing it. As he went up to his room, and pulled out his clothes he moved slowly, his mind trying to fit things together.

"Don't hurt her on purpose." That was really what Otto had said. Harry knew that he would never hurt her on purpose, that part was easy. For the rest of it, that bore some thinking on. Not having even kissed a girl at all meant that the whole boy/girl thing was pretty much of a mystery for him. He had no belief in the whispers and boasting he'd heard at school, or worse, from Dudley. He was pretty sure what he had to avoid doing, still there was a huge territory that seemed he was free to try to discover, if she was agreeable. Harry started to hope fiercely that she, at least, had some of idea what to do.

Liz Green thought Harry Potter was cute, sweet, smart, funny and… well she didn't really know much about that sort of thing anyway. Maybe he'd be able to help her learn. At least Leo wasn't going into protective mode. She'd seen some of her friends get huge problems from having brothers who went all crazy in saving their sisters from the fate they tried to give any girl they could spend five minutes alone with. She was sure that Harry wasn't like _that_; she just hoped that he liked her. Well, and maybe be like _that_ a little. With that in mind she was very careful in picking out what she would wear for their walk into the village, a little less than a mile away. It was very hard to balance "I'm interested" with "be gentle, this is all new with me" when you were doing things for the first time.

The next day Harry got up early enough to see Annette and Otto start their practice, and get wrangled into becoming Annette's sparring partner because, according to Otto, "You learn by teaching." It was embarrassing to have a girl thinner and lighter than you flip you to the ground; at least she had on a serious face. This was serious stuff for her, not a chance to have a laugh. The first time his Quidditch reflexes came through and his arm moved in faster than her defensive deflection was a surprise to both of them. He botched his take down of her, which led to a standing close encounter. Pleasant, that. Annette then went over what had gone wrong for both of them, and they went through it again slowly, then at speed.

At first Otto stayed outside with them, watching. Harry noticed out of the corner of his eye that Otto's muscles tightened up, just a hair, every time Annette got flipped to the ground. Finally he gave a small nod, and went inside. Harry continued to hit the ground four times to her one for the next ten minutes, until Otto threw each of them a bundle consisting of a swimsuit and towel and told them breakfast was in forty five minutes, cold or hot was at their discretion. Annette grabbed her bundle and went off at a run. Harry set off at a more sedate pace; the girl would need some time to put on her suit after all. What he hadn't figured out was that he'd have to change also when he got there. Afterwards he thought she _probably_ hadn't peeked when he had his back to the water putting on his suit. Not that he wasn't sporting a full body blush by the time he jumped in.

This time Otto managed to fool Annette by not having a barely edible omelet ready for them at the table, but passable oatmeal with fruit. There was bacon, but it was in uncooked rashers that were moving about by themselves through the grass and being chased down, one by one, by Hedwig.

The next three days passed much the same way, a morning workout, some light chores (Harry doing a bit of planting and yard care), walks around the area, studying, and evenings watching videos on the TV or listening to music. Not very adventurous stuff, but the kind of thing Harry had been missing and wanting for years. The fact that Annette and he had moved from walking besides each other, to holding hands, to snogging when Otto was away was also something Harry realized he had been missing.

On the day before Hermione was to come for her visit, Harry went down to the basement of the place for the first time. He found Otto sitting at one end of a large room at a table. On the table was some sort of mechanism in a few dozen pieces, with little brushes and cans of oil busily cleaning them. Otto was pushing bullets one by one into magazines, the brushes and oil cans were working on their own. It didn't seem to slow them much.

"What are those?" Harry asked, pointing at a line of large cardboard posters on the wall nearest the table.

"Motivational posters, you know, kitten dangling from a branch, 'Hang on there,' that sort of stuff."

"I notice a major lack of kittens. A complete absence of kittens. Not too many puppies, either."

"Well, different things motivate different people."

Harry looked at the posters; mostly they were in Old English calligraphic script. They were not kittenish at all:

**You will always meet someone**

** Stronger, Faster, Smarter, Tougher**

** Than you are, remember:**

** That's the guy you have to kill first**

There was also:

**If I am not for myself**

** Who will be for me?**

** If I am for myself alone**

** What am I?**

One cryptically said:

**Thermopylae, August 7, 480 BCE**

One, looking hand lettered and drawn, had a standing cartoon duck with a fedora, mask and cloak. To its right there was this:

**Niemand kommt leband raus**

** Oh Holle, was zur Holle**

** Ziet, um gefahrliche **

The pieces of machinery on the table began to assemble themselves, finally turning into an easily recognizable luger pistol. One of the filled magazines moved itself into the magazine well in the butt with a distinct 'click', and the whole moved through the air into an inside pocket of one of the jackets that Otto always wore when he was outside and not exercising. The other loaded magazines followed into what were evidently customized pockets on the other side of the jacket. "So the coat hangs right," Otto said as he followed Harry's gaze. Harry had wondered why Otto was always so formal about wearing coats when he went out. He had previously thought the hard thing he had felt in the chest region of the coat Otto wore weeks ago had been some sort of armor. Evidently Otto was more of the "best defense is a good offence" school of things. And Harry was messing around with his sister.

"J… just to remind you that Hermione will be coming over for her visit tomorrow, and she's been in France and Belgium for most of the summer."

"Got it! We make sure that we don't go to any local places pretending to make Continental Cuisine; she'll never be able to stomach it. Ah, there goes that trip to the Frog and Peach I'd been planning."

"It's a getting a little late in the season for peaches anyway, isn't it?"

"But I understand the frogs are just coming into their prime!"

Harry escaped up the stairs before he had to ponder on whether the Elephant and Castle would have really fresh elephant for their steaks tomorrow. He had other things to worry about.

Annette didn't wear lipstick, so he never had to worry about lipstick marks on his face. She wore pull over tops so Otto couldn't have seen any misaligned rows of buttons; it was unlikely he had an invisibility cloak and had been following them around.

Still, Harry was shaken, and confessed about it to Annette when he met her outside when they went for an afternoon swim. She laughed at him.

"Bro wouldn't get upset about us, unless you've got big plans Mister! Besides, he wouldn't fight with me over you and wow that didn't come out exactly as I mean it too, did it? Anyway, you don't have to worry about him giving you a world of hurt."

Harry felt better on hearing that. Then she continued, "Because if he got serious you'd just wake up dead anyway!" She laughed at his sudden jerk: "He's like a Rattler; he'd give you fair warning to back off. And he does know about us and asked me to have mercy on you, anyway." She then proceeded to kiss his nerves away.

Author's Note:

Niemand…. Roughly translated from the German: No one gets out alive Oh Hell, what the Hell

Time to get dangerous

Courtesy of Google Translate.


	34. Chapter 34

I do not own, or receive any benefits from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 34-Enter the Granger (A)

Hermione Jean Granger was left off by her parents at the foot of a long drive at a largish house in Hampshire. Harry Potter, familiar to them from meetings at he train station, and a young woman had greeted them, and assured the older Grangers that there was a responsible adult staying there to give adult guidance. he was just out in the back yard right then. Ordinarily the Grangers might not have been so eager to leave their daughter (and pride and joy) off without someone adult visible. Despite their missing her all the long months she was at Hogwarts, after a month of day-by-day and pretty much hour-by-hour living with her they were eager to to have a bit of a break. They only had a few more days until they had to go back to work and start drilling teeth, and after all the travel overseas a few days at the refreshing Cornish resort village they had booked for a romantic getaway was looking very attractive. They made sure Hermione had all the possible emergency numbers, that the place had phone service, and that she knew that they loved her. They did not leave scorch marks pulling out.

Hermione disliked the girl (Annette Hahn) at first sight. She had an annoying American accent, was too familiar, and was exactly the kind of pretty Hermione had wanted to be herself. Hermione didn't want to lose an inch of her recently filled out bust, but she was starting to worry if her other emerging curves might not be… excessive. The girl was also much too much in tune with Harry. It wasn't that they were always touching, or anything like that. It was just that when they moved they moved so much in rhythm that it was obvious that something was going on between them. The made Hermione cross, not least because she knew she was being petty and possessive.

Harry carried her bag up to a large bedroom on the second floor, bathroom down and hall and remember to knock before going in as people sometimes forgot to lock the door. It was clean, fresh smelling, and there were new sheets and covers on the bed. All this made her bad mood all the more irritating for her. He told her to get into her swim suit and they'd go down to the canal and have some fun for an hour or so. She agreed, and secretly wondered what sort of "fun" Harry and Hahn would have been having if she wasn't around.

After she changed and met the others in the hallway, she mentioned that she hadn't seen the 'responsible adult' who was supposed to be around. Hahn said that she would go and fetch her brother to do the introductions. Hermione replied that if she was just pointed in the right direction she would do the introductions herself, thank you very much. A girl could only take so much being pulled around from one place to another without wanting to take charge of things a bit herself. The directions given were clear enough, and she agreed to follow the path on the right side of the house that led to the canal afterwards and meet them at the water. What she didn't understand was the girl's instruction to "move loud" when she went out back to meet the brother. Or rather, she did understand it and didn't like it. She was supposed to go out there acting like she was clumsy and fat. Well, she wasn't going to (even though she had a few doubts on the matter herself); she was going to move like the graceful and properly proportioned young woman she really was.

As Hermione went through the house to the back door, swim suited with flip flop sandals and a towel around her neck she looked down her front. Yes, she definitely beat the other girl in the breast department, and if her tummy was too large (it wasn't of course… but was it?) the one piece suit kept everything under control. Not that there was anything that needed to be controlled, of course. She knew it was no use looking around and checking her rear. The girls were always doing that at school and questioning themselves, but as far as she could tell neither Parvati nor Lavender had anything to worry about. It was obvious that you just couldn't trust the view you got over your shoulder. Hahn was always wearing that stupid billed cap, even indoors, an obvious sign she was… coarse. Yes, that was the best word.

When she left the house she saw a dark-haired man, sitting with his back toward the building, his head lolling a bit to the side. Hermione decided not to do something coarse, like shout out a greeting, but approach with a light, quiet, and dignified tread.

When she was a pace or so behind the chair she reached out her hand to tap the man on the shoulder, and suddenly felt she felt herself flying through the air and approaching the ground at a soon to be painful speed. At the last instant she was suddenly flipped over so her back was facing down, and slowed up enough that her breath wasn't even properly knocked out of her.

Before she figured out what had happened, two knees dug into the turf just past her shoulders, and an arm shot down to brace the man who was suddenly half-sitting on her chest. He had very dark eyes, a deep tan, and a slight smile as he said, "You must be Miss Granger; may I call you Hermione?"

She gave a hurried nod, and he rocked himself off of her and into a standing position straddling her. He took a step back and reached out with both hands, grasping hers and helping her to her feet.

"Sorry about that. My sister and I sometimes play with her trying to sneak up on me, and I try to catch her at it. She should have warned you."

"She did, I just… Pleased to meet you, I'm fine with Hermione, Mr. Hahn."

"Just call me Otto; Mr. Hahn is just about business. Well, Harry said his friend was good looking, but I thought he was just being a friend. I'm very pleased to see you."

Hermione knew just what he was doing, and while it was over the top it was also very nice. When he offered her his arm she took it as they walked back to the house. It was when they got inside she remembered where she was supposed to go next, and started to make her explanations of why she had to be off for a little while.

"I think I'll see you there in a few minutes. If you get lost in the woods, just send up a flare, and we'll have the rescue dogs out within the week. And remember, it's Otto"

She got down to the water easily enough; the sound of the splashing and laughing alone would have kept her from getting lost. The girl (well if Hermione was going to call him Otto, she would have to call her Annette) had her cap off; her wet hair was very short and looked black against her skull. Every now and then the sun would make a little flash when a beam hit her head directly, like she had put glitter in her hair, and it hadn't washed out. When Harry saw how she was looking at the girl he gave a sigh and explained; operation, shaved head, everything all right now. The girl was far more upbeat.

"When I first had to it shaved it was all I could do not to cry. And it seems like it's taking forever to grow in again. They don't want me to do anything too radical with it, just go natural. No one wanted too many things going on in the same part of my body at once; old guys always try to play it safe."

"Very good, Miss Granger," Hermione thought to herself," For your next trick will you push an invalid in a wheelchair down a stairwell? Make fun of someone who had just had medical treatment; way to be a class act, Hermione."

In a few minutes Otto showed up in a swim suit, barefooted and with a towel in his hand. Hermione noticed had on a leather bracelet with chromed studs on it. He hadn't been wearing that before. It gave him a slightly dangerous look, like some sort of Biker. She noticed something else, something she had seen years and years ago on her Grandpa Tom's arm one day. A set of two scars on opposite sides of his left arm, each different in size. Grandpa Tom had said that was what it looked like, when a bullet went through clean and didn't mess you up too bad. Otto had a few other scars too, she noticed. She didn't know just what to think about it.

With Otto there Annette immediately started shouting that they had to play "Chicken Fight." Otto was reluctant. No, make that extremely reluctant, but his sister knew how to bully him into it. The game (which Hermione and Harry had never played, both being somewhat secluded as youngsters) involved a girl sitting on a boy's shoulder's, and wrestling the opposing girl into the water. The beast of burden (the boy) frequently went for a submerged swim also. At first Hermione was grim and serious, her size and reach, (her mount was Otto) versus Annette's quickness and Harry's nimble footwork. After a few dunkings on each side everyone was yelling and laughing at once. By the time they crawled, exhausted, up onto the bank and began to amble back to the house Hermione was having a very hard time being angry at anyone, even herself.

She became a bit irritated again, later, when they went out to dinner. Harry and Annette rode together in the back, and she was up front with Otto. Hermione knew she couldn't possibly be jealous about Harry; they weren't like that to each other at all. She suspected, though that if she _had _been jealous she would have been feeling very much like she did right then.

Otto was a very caution driver, always checking his mirrors and having his eyes scanning out of the side windows. He sometimes smiled a bit when he looked in her direction. He was certainly not acting like the goofy young man he had been that afternoon. Wearing a jacket, vest, and tie he was very much the grownup her parents would have wanted to be supervising things while she was visiting.

When they pulled up at the restaurant she notice it was called The Frog and Peach, and pointed out what a strange name that was. She couldn't figure out why Harry started to gag with laughter. The food was good enough; nice simple stuff, and after the rather rich gourmet food she had been having with her parents on their continental tour she appreciated that.

When they got back everyone congregated in the living room. Harry sheepishly got out his texts for the coming year and started to go through them. Hermione nodded her head with satisfaction; Ron was a darling (sometimes), but he did tend to lead Harry astray. She dug out one of her own books and began to read through it. With so much traveling going on she felt she was far behind in her summer readings. Annette had out a laptop computer (a Powerbook) and had plugged it into the house's telephone system somehow, and was evidently having a written conversation with someone over the lines, and occasionally laughing quietly. Otto was reading a book with the title _**Der Marsch zur**__**des Meer von Xenophon**_on the cover. A cassette player was playing songs by someone called George Thorogood (she had asked); who she had just been told was a Blues genius. Lights, computers, music systems, all using house current. The only candles in the room were ornamental, no oil lamps of magic light sources at all.

Now that she thought about it, Hermione hadn't seen anyone using any magic at all, even Otto. As far as them being Men From Cathay: well, neither Otto nor Annette looked anything Chinese. Everything she had seen in the kitchen had been strictly Western, not a wok or a chopstick to be found. There was one final resource left for her to use, to see if she could solve the problem of Sirius' delusions. Her carefully hoarded store of conversational Chinese.

Hermione went over to Annette, carefully tapped her on the shoulder and said, "Ni Hao?"

Annette gave her a blank look, and then looked over to Otto. His book gave a little jerk, and he turned his gaze toward his sister. "Nihao. What does it mean?" Annette asked.

"Chinese for hello, but after that you're on your own, that's as far as I ever went."

"Otto once took a course with someone who spoke Chinese, not a language one though."

"We're both Ok if you want some Spanish, though."

They weren't as annoying as the Twins, but the back and forth did make her head swivel awfully fast.

"And we both have German too, and Annette can do some Russian and Japanese."

"Still working on my Navaho."

"I have no idea why she bothers though."

"You can't_ express _some things about time in any other language!"

"Sun go up, sun go down. Ug roast dinosaur steak on magic hot flower. Sleep in cave; get saber-toothed skin for winter. Ug fancy dresser."

"Barbarian!" Annette shot back, sticking out her tongue.

"And proud of it."

"Speaking of time, I'm getting a bit tired now, see you in the morning," Hermione said as she made a break for the stairs. She felt it was wise to leave before they asked her for some more Chinese; she had only two more words in stock. Her internal monolog was not a calm one: "Just when I can almost like the girl, she turns out all sorts of brilliant. More languages than a mulit-lingual dictionary and it sounds like she knows some sort of deep philosophy. Maybe she's lying? No, no hope of that. Hermione Jean Granger: burnt out child prodigy at age 15. Folks, let's get up a collection to help her out in her twilight years."

She really was tired, more tired than she had realized. All the travel, playing and full supper had worn her down. She slept deeply and soundly. She didn't hear someone moving through the house at three in the morning, going out into the woods in back. Of the sound that came soon afterwards, like a savage wind tearing at boughs and breaking tree limbs.

Hermione woke up a seven the next morning, in a far better frame of mind. She began to work up tests to see exactly how far she was behind the other girl, and maybe point the way to catching up. Hermione Jean Granger had never been a girl who shrank from a challenge, and with a good night's sleep she'd match her brains against anyone's!

When she looked out of her window she saw Otto outside, carrying some auto wheels, walking up and down a tree in the yard. No ladder, just waking up and down a vertical trunk with seventy or eighty pounds of iron and rubber in his hands. He saw her, and waved, tire and all. Ok, Men From Cathay.

Author's Note:

All quotes in German courtesy of Google Translator, doin' the best I can here.


	35. Chapter 35

I do not own, or receive any benefit from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 35-Enter the Granger (B)

Despite appearances, Leo Green wasn't dozing in a chair facing the woods on a sunny afternoon. While Liz (Annette) and Harry (Harry) were running around sprucing up the house for Harry's friend's visit, important exercises and experiments in psionic sensing were being conducted. True, while he was engaged in these Leo was a good bit less attentive to his surroundings, but some sacrifices must be made. Currently he was trying to see how far he could stretch his 'Sie' ability toward his front. He was trying to sense into the treeline about thirty yards to his front. The sensations were disappointingly weak and inconsistent. He closed his eyes in order to reduce distractions. The conscious parts of his mind didn't even register the very light footsteps coming up behind him, with a rhythm that said "not Liz, not safe." He wasn't even really noticing it when an arm moved toward him and his reflexes kicked in and he grabbed it, augmented his pull with Teek, and flipped the person on the other end of the arm into the air and over his head. Reaching for the knife in his boot sheath and pitching his body forward to land his knees on the body's torso (with a chance of breaking ribs) were all just trained fighting reflexes. It wasn't until he caught a glimpse of the figure in mid-air and his mind went into full connection did the thought strike him, "Oh shit, it's a guest!"

He frantically Teeked her so her landing wouldn't be nose first, and put as much power as he had to decelerate her before she hit the ground and broke something. He leaned forward a bit, so his knees would hit the ground a little bit over her shoulders, and used his unoccupied hand to stop his forward momentum. He felt he should distract her while certain essential social courtesies were attended to: "You must be Miss Granger; may I call you Hermione?" he asked as he rocked his body weight back a little, met some resistance, and slid the knife back into the sheath. From there he went smoothly back up to his feet, and offered her his hands for a lift up to a standing position. Yes, greeting guests with a drawn knife in your hand could only rarely be considered polite manners. He could almost hear Walburga chiding him in a disappointed tone of voice.

"Sorry about that. My sister and I sometimes play with her trying to sneak up on me, and I try to catch her. She should have warned you."

"She did, I just… Pleased to meet you. I'm fine with Hermione, Mr. Hahn."

Leo had just put things together and realized that the resistance to rocking backward he had felt earlier was his running into her breasts; perky breasts. "Just call me Otto; Mr. Hahn is just about business. Well, Harry said his friend was good looking, but I thought he was just being a friend. I'm very pleased to see you."

That comment flustered her a little, and she blushed very nicely as they went back into the house. Leo decided that the day was warm enough for a bit of pleasure swimming; his early morning dips were more of a matter of getting a mile or two done as a way of keeping in condition. There was no reason that he be the only one not having fun on a glorious day during the summer!

When he got down to the canal all the others were in the water, but Hermione wasn't quite relaxed enough for a good War of the Splashes. Liz proposed a bout of "Chicken Fight" as a way to loosen things up. Leo tried to beg off; he had no particular problem with Harry carrying Liz around (as long as there was a chaperone), but he felt a little awkward having a strange woman's firm butt resting on his shoulders. But when Liz was on a roll he never had much of a chance to deflect her, and within two minutes he was carrying Miss Granger (no, Hermione!) while he tried to trip up Harry and she grabbed at Liz. After a very small amount of this type of activity it became impossible to be very serious about anything, and the next forty five minutes of so were as much fun as they were exhausting.

When they got back the mail was in and Leo sorted through it. Along with junk mail, and several items that he would have to re-direct the next day, there was one addressed to him, by his proper name. In the lower right corner there was an instruction, "Open in morning" with a small picture in ink of a monkey, with its fingers arranged in the traditional V. He brought that up to his room.

Even though he hadn't thought to coach her, Hermione managed to put in the right straight line when they got to the restaurant he had picked for dinner. Harry laughed himself silly and only Leo knew why. The food was decent too.

Driving back, in the dark, Leo was able to keep up about a twenty yards zone of perception, up and down the road. To either side there were just too many obstructions to analyze as they moved along past hedges and fences. So, unless things changed marvelously twenty yards was his outer limit, maybe ten for any useful details. And keep the speeds less than forty miles an hour.

That evening started out pretty calm and domestic until Hermione started to greet them in Chinese. From there it got freeform and silly. Poor girl was tired from the swimming, probably, and went to bed before things really got interesting and Harry joined in. They all turned in before midnight, imaginations exhausted, but acknowledging Harry victor in the Pun War.

Leo woke up at 2:30, sweating and with his heart pounding. It had been one of _those _dreams; failure and pain and being lost in a maze of doors without meaning. He lay there for a little while, then got up, dressed, and went quietly through the house. At each closed door he stretched his awareness and encountered a peacefully sleeping person; Liz, Harry, and Hermione. He wondered what he would really have done if it had been Hermione, and Liz with Harry.

He decided on nothing, really. He was too happy she was having a ball with the young man. One of the fears that woke him up at night, and stayed with him during the day, was that she would end up diving into the DataStream and never come out. She had described, the first few times she had dipped her toes in the world without bodies as a rush of freedom and possibility that almost overwhelmed her. Leo worried that one day, as her abilities grew and technology made her powers and freedom there even greater, she would just give up the flesh and leave the limited world of one pair of eyes and a reach only as far as the length of her arm. Leo felt guilty; that might be the path of immortality for her, and if anyone was worthy of being the guardian angel for the world it was his brilliant kid sister. But he didn't want to give her up, especially before she had tasted real, grown-up life. And that led back to Harry.

Leo really felt it _was _better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all. He realistically didn't give her summer romance (and he was pretty sure that was what was happening) much of a chance of long endurance. But it would be a strong memory, and a sign that you could be deliriously, insanely, happy as a mere human being. He wanted her to have as many of those memories as she could, as many ties to the world of matter as possible.

Leo tried to distract himself with increasingly bizarre thoughts, and finally realized that he was not going to be going back to sleep again this night. Only one thing to do then: 'shake the crazies out' as his kindergarten teacher had used to say. He went down to the kitchen, and then out into the woods and began to burn off his energy. If his heart was going to be racing, he'd give it something physical to deal with.

At first he went slow, just running in the dark between the trees. Then jumps, Teek aided and not, up to fifteen feet up onto branches. Then all of that, and lifting rocks and bringing them with him as he moved back and forth through the woods. Next, bouncing from one unseen branch to another, yards away, and flinging twenty pound rocks like pebbles at targets at the edge of his psi perception. Dropping like a stone to the ground to pick up more rocks, bouncing between one place to another, faster and faster until even if someone saw him in full daylight they would have been seeing a blur. Sometimes he missed a landing (vertical or horizontal) and crashed into a trunk or the ground. What little vision he had went to grey, but he still tried to go faster, higher, throw things harder. The night active creatures had left, to somewhere less dangerous. Now the ones that moved in the daylight scattered in worried bursts to safer parts. Shake the crazies out.

When dawn came he slowed up; he had done enough damage to the innocent trees by then anyhow. He began doing simpler things, just walking up and down, and carrying weights. By about seven he was down to walking up and down the tree trunks slowly (his muscles were sore, and his bruises starting to ache) carrying some tires, with the rims still in them, that he had found in a shed on the property. He saw Hermione looking out of her window. She was wearing a very modest white night gown, proper wear for a young innocent. Leo waved to her, the tire he was carrying in that hand couldn't have been more than forty pounds, no problem.

After that he put away his toys, met Harry setting up to make breakfast in the kitchen as he went in. He went up to his room and opened the letter from his favorite monkey. It just said "Go to swim." He changed into a pair of trunks and grabbed a towel. He met Harry again in the kitchen, and asked him to tell the others he'd like a morning by himself, down by the water.

The water felt good as he moved gently so his body wouldn't twinge too much. A family in a house barge went by. A family taking a long, leisurely summer cruise from one of the interlocked canals of Britain to the others. Father was steering the boat, a young boy ate something out of a bowl, waving to the man swimming next to them, a small, alert looking dog stood up in the bows like a furry lookout. That looked like a good way to travel.

Leo thought on the dog. Liz and he had been arguing for over a month on getting Aaron a puppy. Not over "if," much more which type. Leo couldn't remember the name of the type of dog, but it had looked smart and bright. He'd suggest the breed to her for when they got back home.

A van had pulled off of the road and into the woods on the other side of the canal. A man and a woman got out, waved to him and set up a little portable camp stove and began making tea. Leo saw them unobtrusively look around them. Checking out the road, checking the canal for any traffic or pedestrians taking a stroll. They waved again and invited him for a hot cuppa. Their patterns were so wrong Leo couldn't resist. He climbed out on their bank, and thanked them, said that he had been getting chilly. The man walked him over to the canal edge and asked questions about its depth, the type of bottom, did boats still use it. Leo kept his Sie concentrated to his back. The woman put something into the tea in one of the tin cups, and carried over to the two of them. They were a courting couple it seemed. Leo noticed she was careful to put the loaded cup into his hands. He blew on it a little and began to sip.

The conversation continued for about ten minutes, all the friendly trivialities that are said by people who meet while traveling and may not ever meet again. For some reason the pair seemed to grow increasingly agitated and almost impatient as the time went on. Leo turned to thank the pair for their hospitality, and managed to get a good look at their vehicle and its license plate. The man almost made a grab at Leo as he turned back and dived back into the water.

By the time Leo was up on the other bank, and toweling himself as he waved back at his hosts they were putting away their stove and piling into the van. He noted what direction it drove off. Leo then carefully pulled the fluid he had just drunk out his stomach. He had enclosed it from the start in a slender envelope of Teek, not letting any get into his system. He set off at a shuffling jog (he'd gotten stiff enough that a run was beyond him) to the house.

Liz was in the living room, discussing music with the others, and came over to say good morning.

"Keep them out of my way for the next ten minutes, I'll be using the phone. Keep them out of earshot."

She wasn't experienced, really, in field operations, but she was smart and could see something was going on. She nodded and went smiling back to her friends, even if one of them didn't realize it yet. He went right to the telephone and called a constantly monitored number.

A report poured out: his name and location, the reason for the call, "Checking out if there were any witnesses, giving me a drink I'm sure was drugged. Becoming nervous when I didn't react. Despite saying they had been stopping for a camping breakfast at that attractive spot leaving after only brewing the tea to give to me. Their patterns of behavior were totally off, they weren't professional, but they had something big they were hiding, and undoubtedly dirty. Volks van, tan, a few years old, number ECV 201 M. Left going west on the A 259. If possible please investigate. I do not think it is AGER business, but it certainly is something. I'll be at this number; it has an answering machine for further communication if needed. Right? Good."

He then walked back to the kids and wondered if he had just made himself a complete idiot, or perhaps just exposed that he had been one for a long time. It was a good day for a field trip; the London Zoo was in for some havoc.

The next day their newspaper had a headline:

**Mysterious Double Suicide!**

Two days after that the papers had:

**Revelations from a Cornish House**

**Of Horrors!**

It seemed that a pair of serial killers had beaten themselves up and then hanged themselves in remorse. When local police had visited their home, evidence had been found of why twenty three people had disappeared in southern Britain over the last five years. There were souvenirs. Hermione started to read the story, gagged, and left at a run. Harry picked it up, turned slightly green but continued on to the end. His only comment: that all-in-all Luna was a better writer than most of those in the professional press.

Leo wasn't worried about his reputation, at least at the moment. He knew Quiller, and knew that even when it wasn't strictly AGER business the local branch sometimes did what they termed, "Pro Bono" work. Quiller's comment when Leo next talked to him was that sometimes you just helped out around the place, taking out the trash.


	36. Chapter 36

I do not own or receive and benefit from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 36- The end of summer

It was a delicate diplomatic problem. If things were to be kept simple, a basic there and back again was all that was really needed. But if Leo pulled up in front of the Weasley place to pick up Ron there would be more than mere awkwardness. If Harry went up to the door he confessed that he would be in fear of kidnapping and being ravaged. Well… he didn't use that exact word, there being ladies present, but the concept came over very clearly. And if Liz visited the Weasley's, after giving Ron and Bill (if present) a warning to clear out, her visit would have a great resemblance to clearing out a house in a war zone. First the grenade, then large quantities of automatic weapons fire in lieu of ringing the doorbell.

By default if fell to Hermione to do the actual pickup, with Leo (Otto) in a parked auto, staying around the bend and out of sight. Of course, Harry considered he had to at least be in the auto to give her moral support, if only at an unseen distance. And if Harry was going to be gone for a good part of the morning Liz simply had to keep him company. At that point Leo wondered if he should check the attic and basement to see if there was anyone else who wanted to come along. Finally deciding they should give any other hitchhikers the slip Leo got his entire expanded list of official passengers into the car. Then off they went to Devon, and the town of Ottery St. Catchpole, home of the extensive Weasley clan.

Having been there before Leo knew just the right place to take the car off the road; out of sight of the house, but near enough to get to at a run if there was a need of a quick getaway. Hermione went off to fetch Ron, while the others got out of the car to stretch their legs. Harry and Liz went around to the other side of the car from Leo, and then sort of disappeared. He was careful not to pace around and disturb them, and rather than become a 'Sei'-ing Tom began to scan the various clumps of bushes to his front. At about twenty five yards, slightly to his left there was a… presence. As he walked toward it he caught a glimpse of something bright through a gap in the leaves. He made sure to step on a dry fallen twig or two; it was just common courtesy.

He was glad to see that his target was alert. Luna Lovegood had been able to pull a notebook and begin pretending to have been writing something. Only a boor would have commented that her eyes were a little red and watery. She looked up in a fairly good imitation of being startled.

"Oh, hello Mr. … Hahn? It's so nice to see you. I've just been out doing a Nature Walk. I wonder, have you seen something the size, maybe, of a large cat that looks something like this?"

At that she flipped to a page in her book which had a pencil sketch, very well done, of a creature that Leo estimated had less chance of actually existing than a Jackalope. It had a horn, and feet with hooves, and ears that would be been outsized on a giraffe. He shook his head.

She continued, "I just wondered, they're very rare and I thought you might have seen it from your auto, and that was why you stopped here in the middle of nowhere. Was that Harry in your car?"

"I'm sorry Miss Lovegood, but if I had I would certainly tell you. Yes, that was Harry, we're here to pick up Mr. Weasley, Ron that is, for a few days. Come with me, you can say hello."

Somewhat reluctantly she got to her feet and followed her back to the car. At a safe distance he gave a 'ping' with Teek to let the invisible couple that someone was coming. In a second or two Liz and Harry popped up on the other side of the car, thankfully with everything fully buttoned.

"Miss Lovegood, meet my sister, Annette. We're all staying at the same place for the next few weeks; Ron will just be visiting through next Tuesday."

On seeing Liz, Luna's face became a little stiff and her general expression a little brittle.

"Pleased to meet you, I'm Loony Lovegood. Don't look shocked Harry, we're not at school. There's no reason we can't be informal, and painfully honest."

"Annette, that's Luna Lovegood. She's smart and creative and you may remember I said that she was a better journalist than most of the adults I read in the regular press. She's also honest."

"I remember you from the wedding, Luna. Really you didn't seem too much more loony than a lot of those attending. Including some who are currently trusted with the supervision of young and impressionable children, the poor, poor, dears! I like your hair." With that Liz walked over to her, snagged an arm, and half dragged, half led her a dozen yards off where they could talk while pretending to admire a flowering shrub.

"Luna's usually not like this Otto. Even if people are picking on her, she just rises above it. Can't figure out where this stuff today comes from," Harry said defensively.

"You probably see her when she has time to put on a mask of serene obliviousness. We caught her when she was too deep into something to just pretend to sail over all the unpleasant things she runs into."

"Maybe you should have just left her… wherever you found her?"

"No, I really like her too much to leave her alone during her long dark midnight of the soul."

"Otto, it's not quite eleven in the morning."

"Harry, you don't read much poetry, do you?" Otto said with a bemused expression.

Looking down the road they saw Ron and Hermione slowly walking toward them, jabbering away at each other. Ron was carrying an absurdly large pack in one hand, swinging it about as he spoke as if it had no weight at all. Which, all things considered, was probably true.

Leo checked further up the road, where Liz had put her arm around Luna's shoulders. He shook his head, a little sadly. "Too bad we can't just invite her along. She's got some bug up her butt, and she's really into a third level bout of self-loathing. Last time I saw her she on an upswing, and was doing a good imitation of a crack twelve person News team."

Harry had set off at a jog to join his friends, and as he got there they all seemed to jump into a three way hug, then broke apart with a little adolescent embarrassment. So much public emotion was totally uncool. Now that there was the three of them, the walk toward the auto was even slower. Leo heard movement behind him; he suppressed his initial impulse and turned around slowly to see his sister and Luna walking back to the car. Luna had on her usual unfocused expression, a vague slight smile on her face. Her eyes were completely dry and normal.

When the trio got near enough Leo went over and had Harry grab Ron's pack ("Hey, be careful with that, my Mum packed some pies in there!") and then shepherded Hermione into the back seat with Harry, dragging a very reluctant Liz into the front. That left Ron and Luna by themselves to say their goodbyes. After a few moments Leo got into the car and started the engine. At the sound of the engine starting Ron jumped a little, gave a nod and a wave to Luna, and came over and got into the car.

It took several minutes before even Harry's questions about the World Cup could get Ron past monosyllabic answers. Eventually, when his mood lifted he was able to give pretty much a play by play of the game (to Hermione's distress) and fill them in on the details of the strange and ominous "prank" that followed. He included his part in the stampede, and the general reaction to seeing the Dark Mark in the sky. Liz had turned on the radio, and sulked at being forced to be in the wrong seat, i.e. the one not next to Harry. As usual Leo checked the mirrors, and tried to push his abilities with Sie. He finally had to admit that there was no way he was going to be able to check for mines buried in the road if the car was moving. He had edged out his absolute range by a few feet though; an encouraging thought.

By the time they had gotten back to the house everyone's mood had recovered, and after a careful unpacking and storage of the pies (three of them) in the pantry, a make-your-own-sandwiches luncheon was followed by the younger set getting changed and racing down to the water. Leo cleaned things up and did his alternate afternoons stuff.

When they got back three hours later Ron was amazed to see his host had tied mattresses around several trees, and was pounding away at them with odd looking punches and kicks. He looked to Harry with a quizzical expression.

"Otto's a bit of as fanatic. He thinks mattresses and blankets just soften you, so he's stripped them off of all the beds, and to show his displeasure with them is beating the stuffing out of the lot."

Hermione continued, "Afraid so Ron. He's got a down on cooked foods too, thinks that they ruin all the vitamins or something. Good thing we've had a chance to adjust before you got here. You'll get used to the extra crispiness of raw beans and things quickly, so don't worry about starving."

"Bro will probably wait until after dinner to give you your shovel, to dig your personal latrine, so enjoy the down time. The ten mile run after sundown gets you tired enough that you don't need mattresses anyway, so don't worry about the ground being hard, you won't notice it."

Ron felt he needed a very "Ron" thing to say, "What about the room you showed me?"

Harry threw him a line, "Oh, just a place to hang your clothes."

Annette jumped in, "My brother isn't crazy. If it rains hard enough you can sleep in the room, on the floor."

"Only if there's lightning. I think that's the sign of a reasonable person." Hermione concluded.

The group ambled over to Leo, who slowly got into a balanced stance with his arms at his sides. When they got there Ron asked, "What did those mattresses ever do to you?"

"Can't trust them; they sneak up on you and attack you at night when you're too tired to resist."

At that they saw one of the trees lose its mattress wrapping, which moved toward them in a slow and ominous manner, until finally doing an un-legged sprint it leaped at Ron. He pushed his arms up in front of his face. Then Leo frowned, "Why didn't you dodge? Left, right, roll under, something. Don't stay still and let things happen to you, if something tries to attack, make it try to catch up to you. At least you could give it a punch, go down game."

Leo shook his head and turned. Each of the mattresses floated after him as he led them to the shed where they were stored. Maybe wizards _should _have different reflexes, he thought. It just didn't seem right to let something get at you without making its life at least a little more complicated. Oh well, from the sounds coming from the group as they went into the house no one had taken his little tantrum too seriously. Let's see; the chicken was already in the oven, Ron had brought dessert, now which video should they see tonight? Yes! Tonight was the time for **Big Trouble in Little China.** Jack Burton will ride again!

Ron, if questioned, would have admitted that the food that night was all right, even though it wasn't up to Hogwarts, much less his mother's, standards. That Otto limited the dessert to only one of the pies for the five of them showed a mean and stingy nature though. Afterwards, sipping cocoa (the night had turned a little chilly) they watched an exotic thriller about China, or the part of America that was in China, or the other way around. Anyway, it had a dashing hero (though he seemed to need a lot of help) and monsters and real Oriental Magic! Afterwards, when they were talking about the film (though it had been seen on a big plate of glass) the others insisted that the real hero had been the sidekick, despite Jack's killing the villain! It just went to show that sometime people could be too clever by half, even Hermione.

"Jack Burton's been Leo's role model for years." Annette said.

Even before a quizzical expression could hit any faces Otto cut in with: "Leo's a black sheep type relative. Hanging out at low class bars and gambling casinos. He's even done some leg-breaking work. We don't talk about him much, do we sister?" She nodded her head silently. The English teens still looked puzzled, until finally Harry asked, "Leg-breaking?"

"Working for rough types, does a little violence, like breaking legs to discourage certain types of behavior, like not paying off debts and that sort of thing."

Hermione looked appalled, while Harry had a 'smelled something bad' look on his face. Ron, coming from an environment where a broken leg, while certainly painful, was only an afternoon's visit to St. Mungos away from being cured, thought it a moderate punishment for welching on a bet. But he had more cause than most to think such physical punishment was sometimes a good thing.

"Fred and George, they made some smart bets at the Cup. Ludo Bagman paid them off, with Leprechaun Gold! It was gone in an hour, of course. And what can a couple of poor students do to collect the real stuff from Mr. Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports? Even the goblins haven't got him to pay up all he owes them, I hear. Do you think I could hire your relative? If he breaks something more than a leg or two _I _wouldn't complain!"

"Oh Otto, do you think our _cousin _would be willing to work on commission for Ron?"

"Leo has done some work on commission before; remember that Christmas gift he got you last year? But he sometimes drops out of sight, and we can't locate him, _right _Annette?"

Hermione thought something was going on, but had no idea what. Harry thought it was just them joking around; they were always saying things like that. Ron thought it was the politest family argument he'd ever seen. Not a single curse or even threat was being uttered. As to what they were going on about… well they were family, and his training back at the Burrow had educated him that in some families you really didn't need to have anything specific to argue about, you just did it.

Otto settled down into a chair, and opened a opened up a book labeled **Der Krieg Peloponnesian von Thucydides **with a contented sigh. Harry suggested that this was a good time for Hermione to give Ron the book she had gotten him as a present. Ron moaned a little as she ran up the stairs to her room to get it. "Book, Harry?" Ron complained.

"Trust me, you'll like it." Harry said, and then with a slight jerk of his head to Annette they both sauntered out toward the door to the outside, leaving Ron to his literary fate. The sound of the door closing just beat out Hermione's arriving back in the living room with a wrapped book in her hand. She looked disappointedly around for Harry, and her "friend" Annette. Resignedly, Ron tore off the wrapping paper, and then read the title that had been revealed. "'Lasker's Manual of Chess'? Has possibilities, I'll admit. Thanks 'Mione!" He wasn't even annoyed it was written by a Muggle, after all the operational rules of Wizard's Chess were the same as the Muggle variety.

Hermione tried to get him to go out with her to join the other two, so they wouldn't feel lonely outside in the dark. By themselves. In the dark. Ron was flipping through pages, stopping at particularly impressive diagrams, his breath coming as short, rapid, panting. She looked at his wide eyes, rigid shoulders. "I must look like that when I find something really impressive in the Library at Hogwarts," she said to herself. She looked over to Otto; he was smiling, evidently enjoying his book, but without the intense focus Ron was showing. Perhaps she could get him to go with her to inter… accompany Harry and Annette on their little walk?

He wasn't helpful at all. "Probably too far along by now, anyway. We'd have trouble catching up." Well, wasn't that exactly why they should start moving right now? Before things got too… Perhaps she should just go upstairs and call it a night? Yes, that was the only thing left to do now, and hope for the best. No! Hope for sleep!

Leo looked at Hermione going up the stairs. She didn't know, or at least wouldn't admit to herself, what she was trying to do, or why. Some if it was just to protect her friend from being vamped. Having Liz try to protect him had given Leo an amused perspective on that. Partially, Hermione was defending rare time with her friend. And partially she was trying out the first few steps of her mating dance. Some of her troubles were that she was very inexperienced at it, some were that Liz was just naturally a better flirt (and was also seriously into Harry), and some of Hermione's problem was that she was evidently splitting her routine with more than one step in Ron's direction. Not that he seemed to realize it. An hour later Leo went to bed himself. Ron had gone to the beginning of the book, the first page of the introduction and was going over it line by line. He gave a nod when Leo said good night; probably he'd be reading until dawn. Liz and Harry would come in soon as it had started to drizzle. Leo didn't want them to think he had waited up for them because he didn't trust them. So, on to bed.

Ron quite enjoyed his holiday within his summer holiday. Even the slight chores he was given were a lot more fun with a friend or two helping, and no interference from the Twins or Ginny's carping. Their field trips, or "raids" as the others called their trips, into the malls, and giant stores the girls couldn't get enough of, showed him a reason for his father's fascination for Muggle things had a real point. He'd never really spent time in Muggle London, out in the streets so to speak. Even he could enjoy the shops, and especially the restaurants. There were other diversions, of course.

When they went for a ride in the Underground someone behind them pinched Hermione's bum, making her squawk and jump. Otto then sort of slipped her off to his side. When the pincher made to follow his target he slipped and his face fell directly into Otto's elbow. Ron had to admire how nicely it was done; the coat didn't even get any of the fellow's blood on it. When he had started to make a fuss Otto had just turned and given a little smile. The man's friends looked, and hustled him off. For fun Ron asked why they were frightened off by a smile. Hermione chimed in first: "When you smile you show your teeth."

Annette had joined in with: "And showing teeth has meanings. And my brother has big teeth."

Harry and he had looked at each other, until Ron asked: "What do Otto's dental problems have to do with anything?" They were able to keep the girls going for five minutes with that routine alone, all the way to their destination, the British Museum.

Ron knew he wasn't much of scholar, but the Museum floored him; so much, so many, and so deep in time. There were a number of exhibits that he almost had to be pulled away from, for some reason they held him as if they were questions he almost had the answer to, if he could just stay a little longer and look into them a little further. On the way back home he asked the others: why doesn't the Wizarding World have something like this, or at least take school groups to see it? Against his inclination he ended up in a long and completely serious discussion on that.

Every night the kitchen and cleanup chores were rotated, and then viewing videos like **Star Wars**,** A Bridge Too Far**,and **Some Like It Hot**, Otto being the one with the card at the video store did the selection. Then snacks, jokes, and the idle chatter that goes so well on a summer's eve.

When he was finally dropped off back home he went with reluctance toward the house. Not that he had anything against home, and after all he'd probably be seeing the others in a few days when they'd be picking up their school things anyway. It was that there were some problems there, and he still didn't have a clue about how to deal with them. He could ask Luna, of course, but he wasn't sure that he could follow her advice.

Hermione had moved up to the front seat after they'd dropped of Ron. The others were back at the house. She had finally come to accept that she had a choice between being a pest, and having a good time with her friends, even Annette. In the sunny days and laughter it had just been so much easier to give up her rigid side (except for Harry's and hers time for study each day, of course) and live each moment for itself. She expected it was that for the first time in her life that she could remember, she had not been running her race. Always having to know more and be the best, always having to try to be as brave and daring as Ron and Harry. Instead she had just been Hermione. Not brainy Hermione. Not Hermione, at least she'll back us up as we go to certain doom. She hadn't had to force herself to be or do anything, and everyone had like her, everyone had wanted her to be with them. That alone had made it for her the best summer ever.

Her parents greeted Hermione Jean Granger with open arms. They met Mr. Hahn, and though he was quite a bit younger than they had expected him to be, he impressed them as a sensible and mature person that had certainly looked out well for their daughter. They weren't really sure whether or not he was actually a wizard; his only eccentricity was that he was so very normal and undramatic. A nice change to many of the people Hermione seemed to meet so frequently in the Wizarding World.

HHew H


	37. Chapter 37

I do not own or receive any benefits from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 37- Reality intrudes

When Sirius and Julia came back from their honeymoon, Harry and Annette found themselves waiting on her hand and foot. She was tanned, happy, and obviously due in a few weeks at most. Despite her insistence that she was fine, she got tired easily and had trouble navigating the stairs at MFC Central. A look shared between Sirius, Otto, Harry, and Annette led to a silent agreement that resulted in a flurry of coordinated activity that changed a small study on the ground floor into a convenient bedroom. Julia didn't fault it for comfort (and there was a half-bath next to it), but it was too small for a large bed, and she had gotten very used to, and fond of, Sirius sleeping next to her. He offered to use a sleeping bag, or his Animagus form, at the foot of her bed, but she felt it set a bad precedent for the start of a marriage. When he had done something idiotic, she declared,_ then_ he'd have to sleep in the doghouse. Harry found all this an interesting view of married life. Not a bad one, though.

As the last few days before the beginning of the school term were counted down, and just a day before Harry was to be brought to Diagon Alley to pick up his school supplies, the smooth rhythm of their existence had a sudden change. Sirius came back from supervising the finishing touches on the renovations at Grimmauld Place carrying a small package. Instead of coming into the house he circled around it, and standing in the back yard called up to Otto to come down and confer with him. Annette was in Julia's room, sharing a snack and holding their own important discussion. When Harry had asked what it was about all he got was "important stuff." On him pestering them a bit more Annette gave a nasty smirk (Malfoy worthy) and just added "sex secrets of aggressive women." Harry fled.

So when something interesting seemed to be about to be happening out back, away from aggressive women (a little of that would go a long way with him), he snagged his Invisibility Cloak, put it on and went out to eavesdrop. Or as Otto would have said, "engage in covert intelligence gathering."

Once Harry got outside and began to sidle into good listening range, he began to have some second thoughts about it. For one thing Otto's head was moving strangely, like he was trying to listen to something and pin down the exact direction. What was more important, though, was that Harry's scar began to ache. Ache in a way that reminded him of Quirrell. He guessed that just meant that whatever was being discussed was important to him, and worth a bit of discomfort. He managed to get in earshot in time to hear Sirius say: "… don't want this in the house, not with Julia there."

Otto commented: "Cardboard boxes, even ones that you've put wards in silver ink on, don't usually provoke such an extreme reaction in you, Sirius. I take it then there is a story in all this."

"The repairs have gotten around to the odd corners of the house; they finally got to the little cubby Kreacher had made into his nest. The Security man was trying to lay out some internal wards, a Safe Room sort of thing, but he found they weren't setting right. Something with a lot of magic was bending them out of true. He called me over, and I started to go through Kreacher's little collection of precious things, little family sentimental trinkets mainly, when I touched what's in the box. Felt like one of those 'lectricity jokes you fellows do with carpets. And it felt bad, just bad. So I made the box… I may not be a professional, but I've gotten decent at casting wards in the last few months… and put it in."

Sirius continued, trying to put a light tone in his voice: "I had a lunch date with George Quiller at the local pub, brought the thing with me. Mentioned it to him over our second ale and opened the box to let him see it, it's pretty enough. Top off, wards no longer covering all directions, George grabs his head and runs out of the pub, leaving me with the tab, but from the way he was acting I hardly blame him. I caught up with him outside, he was leaning against a lamppost, had lost the sandwich he'd just eaten. He grabbed the pole, told me to open the box again, when he was braced for it. He did better this time, not much more response than if I'd kicked him in the balls. I could tell the bad feeling I'd had was the real thing, took him back to the homestead and out in the back garden. Took the thing out of the box, definitely affected George, but he had kept his distance. I started to get the feeling that I should give this pretty thing to Julia, at that I started to hit it with every destructive spell I knew until all that was left was the AK. Nothing even scratched it. I went back into the library, some hefty stuff there, left George to guard the jewelry, he had a gun out.

"Well, nothing useable I could find in the Black library, including things that weren't just Dark, they were positively evil, did anything to it. There were a couple of spells still to try, but you don't use them anyplace near something you don't want caught up in the back blast, so I didn't try those. Not certain I could control them anyway. Put the damn thing back in the box, drew some more wards on the thing, Runic this time. George said bring it to you, and you'd contact him with your recommendations.

"I'm thinking about that thing Harry did with a diary, get him to tell you about it. Basically anything that starts whispering in your head without going through your ears is something to look out for. That's why I'm not going near Julia with it. You up for it, taking a peek?" Sirius finished, a worried look on his face.

"In just a moment Sirius. Harry, step back a few yards, will you, and become visible. It's awkward Sirius not knowing where you are."

Harry started at that, then sheepishly took the hood of the cloak down, and backed up five yards or so. Otto took the lid off the box. Sirius took a step back, his face having a sour look. Harry put his hand up to his forehead, it felt just like when Quirrell had been looking at him, back in First Year. He croaked out: "There's something of Voldemort in that. Not sure what, but it's connected to him, is him maybe, in a way. There was a diary my second year. It possessed Ginny Weasley and tried to use her life-force to come back to full life. It had a part of Voldemort's soul in it. This feels just like it."

"How was it dealt with?" Otto asked.

"Killed it with a Basilik's fang; not too many of those around, though."

"Harry seems more sensitive than you to this, Sirius. If I may experiment?"

Otto took a locket out of the box, and for the next few minutes recorded Sirius' and Harry's responses to it at various distances, inside and outside the box. By now the fact that the information was being taken down in a floating in mid-notebook by a floating in mid air-pen didn't surprise them. Finally, Otto had Sirius make a sketch with three views of the locket, in case it wouldn't photograph.

He then pulled a knife with a wicked blade out of somewhere and gave it to Harry before telling him to get back under the cloak and kill anyone who tried to steal the locket. Then he boxed it up and gave it back to Sirius. The last thing Otto did before going back into the house to contact Quiller was ask one question of Sirius.

"You want this dead and gone?"

Sirius nodded his head, and Otto went back into the house. While they waited for something to happen Harry gave Sirius a refresher on the Chamber of Secrets. It didn't ease any of Sirius' worries. Otto didn't come out for twenty minutes, and when he did he carried a suitcase his right hand, and a few other things in the left. These turned out to be a clear plastic bag and a marker. Otto asked Sirius to put some protective charms on the bag, leaving most of the front of one side clear. While the wizard did that Otto filled him in on the current state of affairs.

"I'm leaving today; another car will be dropped off for your use. Hogsmead is probably safe at present, no hostile activity reported in two months now. Best if you re-locate there, don't worry too much, just my paranoia. Could you get Annette on her plane next week? Thanks.

"The Shiva route, while I think it's the most certain, it's difficult to arrange though, and would be hard to confirm afterwards. So, going to see if Mjollnir will do the trick, have high hopes of it. You'll get word either way. Sis knows I'm going back early on business, so no worries there, just don't tell her exactly what the business is, Ok? That means you too, Harry.

"My arrangements are being made right now, so all this should be resolved soon. Sirius, Harry, it's been fun this summer, best I've had in a long time. Said goodbye to Julia too, I'm sure everything will be fine. Sign this please."

It was a handwritten sales receipt for one decorative pin/locket worth 120 pounds, dated two weeks previous.

"Have to take it through Customs; you say it can make you want to do things with it, so we need wards so they don't get too grabby. The receipt is for paying import duty so they don't mess things up with a smuggling charge. Oh, right, give this to Mr. Quiller for me, and ask for him to forward it, and the supplies."

With that Otto handed Sirius his pistol and several loaded magazines, nodded politely, took the filled box, and walked off to the auto. Just as he got there he turned and waved, and shouted out, "Harry, you can keep the knife; you never know!" And then he drove off.

"Not one for long goodbyes, is he Harry?"

"No, they call that a cat's goodbye, don't they? What is this Shiva and Mjollnir thing he was talking about?"

"Haven't had Runes yet, have you? Hammer of Thor, lightning I expect. Not sure what that Shiva remark meant, but from the sound of it something fairly horrible. Still, if he can't get it for the job, it hardly matters, does it? Ah, here come the ladies! Harry, with just your head sticking out from the cloak you are hardly looking your best."

And the ladies were in fact coming outside, strolling arm in arm and with full smiles on. Otto's departure wasn't mentioned; Annette dragged Harry off for a walk in the woods, away from adult eyes. Harry's face took on a determined look; he felt pretty clear what he had to do. Within the next ten minutes he would have to defend her ignorance, present a shoulder to cry on (even though she wouldn't be exactly certain what was going on) and give her all the physical comfort that he could. They had drawn a clear set of limits on how far things would go, and he wouldn't violate them (or her), but those limits had still been extensive enough for a fulfilling first time romance for both of them.

Sirius had the harder task of dealing with a full grown, strong willed, and intelligent witch. Whom he loved, had married, and who was currently (as they both knew) capable of wrapping him around her little finger.

"What? Why?"

"MCF business came up unexpectedly. It's a field where, evidently, Otto is their go-to guy. We're to look after Annette, and get her back across the ocean by Muggle flying next week; you should find it interesting. I think I'll take her, if you don't mind, with Harry and me when we pick up his things tomorrow. I'll get Luna to stay with you, she always entertains you."

"Luna is a darling. Certainly you'll take Annette, and let her get a good look at the latest robes and shoes, though I think she really is too young for advanced lingerie. I'd love to see Heathrow; see, I know a bit about the Muggle world too! And when Otto said goodbye to his sister his expression was completely calm, just like the time I saw him after he killed four wizards, was bleeding like a stuck pig, and had a piece of wood sticking out of his side! And when she said goodbye to him she was casual and cheerful, except her eyes were like those I saw during the War. They said: 'What's going on? Will I see you again?' _That _look!"

"Don't tell, or hint to Annette, he asked us that. He's just a courier, but it's something touchy, and it has to be dealt with quickly. Probably nothing to it, but you know him, a worrier."

"If he's so worried, why does it look like his pistol is in your pocket? He carries the bloody thing when he walks to the village to get ice cream, if there's something going on, why doesn't he have it?"

"Just to keep a low profile; Muggle authorities are often nervous about people with guns getting on their flying machines. Now, if I may, I have to make an announcement." Turning to the woods he yelled out, "Dinner in one hour, be presentable, don't shock us old married folks too much."

No one faulted Annette for being clingy with Harry that evening, or the next day when they went to the Alley. She certainly put on her sunniest smile; she just made sure that Harry was either in contact, or at least touching range. Julia would have been re-assured; Annette didn't try to drag Harry into any intimate apparel stores to give his opinions of minimalist sleeping togs.

When they went to Flourish and Blots to pick up Harry's texts it turned out that she had an extensive list of things to pick up also; a larger list, in fact, than his. She also had a list of things to pick up at the Potions supply house, not for a 'friend', but for the sister of a friend. She made sure that all the ingredients were in distinctive bottles, with labels in the most elaborate Olde English lettering.

Due to the Ginny situation, and just a hard time scheduling, neither Ron nor Hermione were shopping that day. But that hardly meant that all of Harry's acquaintances were absent. The Patil twins talked to them in the street, eyeing Annette with interest. The Creevey's were shopping that day also, and Colin's camera was out and snapping with lightning quick speed. Followed by the camera opening itself, the film roll leaving it, and the film exposing itself to the sun. Then depositing itself neatly in a nearby trash receptacle. Harry pleaded innocent to the use of underage magic outside of Hogwarts, and as there was no rush of authorities Colin had to believe him. But he was very disgruntled all day.

As they headed for the traditional mid-afternoon refreshments at Fortesque's Annette remarked… just before ordering a towering concoction of too many scoops (except perhaps for Ron), toppings, middles and things on the side… that they should have remembered to give Neville a call. Harry slapped his head (how could he have forgotten how well Annette and Neville had gotten along), and then slapped it again as Draco Malfoy walked into view, escorted (rather reluctantly on his part) by his mother. Sirius waved them over; perhaps if Harry and Draco could get along it would inspire him enough to not want to strangle Snape when he saw him next. After all, with enough Magic even pigs could fly.

As Narcissa went over and sat next to her cousin, Draco faced an unpleasant scene. Not only was Potter there with Black, but not content to have Granger as his concubine (probably, maybe) he had another looker hanging on to him. Then he realized what Mother was doing. When he entered the political world he'd have to deal civilly with all sorts of people he despised, now was as good a time as any to start. At least the only vacant seat was on the other side of the girl from Potter.

After he sat there was a moment of awkward silence at their section of the round table. Sirius and Narcissa were catching up on events and people as if they hadn't seen each other for a dozen years or so. The girl looked to her right and left, smiled, and shattered the frosty silence.

"Hello, I'm Annette Hahn. And yes I know proper manners, but if those that should be making the introductions decide to chicken out I have special dispensations to just go ahead and introduce myself anyway! You must be Draco, I've heard so much about you, at least some of which must be untrue, because you aren't even slightly fleeing from the Law." She put her hand out; Draco gently turned it so he could give the palm a kiss. He didn't see Annette and Harry exchange a slightly unbelieving glance.

Draco couldn't place her charming accent, but she certainly wasn't one of Potter's regular mudblood friends. He tried her out in French (take that Potter, you cultureless peasant!), which went by her. But he could follow her German (which actually seemed as good as his), and only lost her when she slipped into Spanish. He recognized (without understanding) her Russian, but when she began to speak in Oriental (all wogs sounded the same after all) he smiled and raised his hands in defeat. He suavely asked her if she would like to ride on his broomstick, and as her large, dark eyes went wide and adoring, she said she regretted that she wouldn't have the time before she had to go home. Draco knew that he had made another conquest, right under Potter's nose!

Harry could feel Annette's ribs trembling as she held back her laughter at Draco's combination of smugness and pseudo-sophistication. Harry might not have much in the way of languages, but that kissing the palm thing! And putting people to a test on first meeting them; just not done, not done at all! When Draco did the thing about his broom; did he actually understand what he was saying, Harry wondered? Annette's giving him puppy dog eyes was the capper. Harry knew that she only used them for a joke, when she was serious she went straight in, angry or laughing. The only thing wrong with the entire joke was there was a huge chance that Malfoy would never know how he was being played. Well, life wasn't perfect, but it could be fun.

In a few more moments both parties had to leave, as on the day before school started everyone was on a tight schedule. Sirius had been rather pleased at how well his first meeting in over a decade with his cousin had gone. They had managed to avoid any of the hundred and one topics that would have led to frosty farewells. Surprisingly, Narcissa had even expressed, in the most general and indirect terms, regret that she couldn't see (for social reasons, and in obedience to her husband) Andy and her daughter. Sirius had also been surprised that Narcissa had been sending packages to Bellatrix, only hoping that they were being given to her. Sirius didn't enlighten her on how Azkaban really worked. No doubt the guards (the living ones at least) had been enjoying smoked salmon and caviar for years now.

When the Malfoys had disappeared around the corner Sirius was startled when Harry and Annette broke out in laughter.

"God, he was everything you said, and more! Is it possible for a Wizard to make love to himself? 'Cause otherwise there is a great passion that will never be consummated."

"Well, there is, but you're too young and pure to be told about it."

She began to punch him in the arm as she laughed: "I didn't mean _that _way, you jerk!"

From this Sirius managed to determine that Draco had overreached himself a bit. Well, that's why the young are allowed more leeway in social situations; it takes time to learn not only the words of proper social conduct, but the rhythm and music of it. Though Sirius had to admit that young Longbottom had done very well at the wedding.

The next day, as the Hogwarts Express pulled away from the platform, Harry leaned out the window and waved to the three people who had come to see him off. Ron was being unusually quiet, even thoughtful. Hermione decided to not try to push her way into Harry's moment. She had no doubt, no matter how much Sirius and Julia might be beginning to mean to him, who Harry was most sorry to leave behind.

Went he finally sat down he seemed more pensive than depressed. That encouraged Hermione to ask how things had went after Ron and she had left. Harry's answer was a bit odd.

"Fine really, had a nice trip to the Alley, saw Malfoy there. He made an arse of himself, of course. Annette seems to love bookstores as much as you do. What's a Mjollnir?"

"Lightning bolt? I have it, Thor's hammer. I've been reading ahead in Ancient Runes, that's a big one for a lot of things. Will you be taking Runes also, this year?"

"Hadn't planned on it. What would the Shiva route be? In a destructive sense."

"Better ask Padma, she might know. Shiva, Hindu god of destruction. I've got a quote for you, 'Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.' It's what the man… Oppenheimer his name was… who was in charge of the science side of building the first Atom Bomb said when he saw that it worked. Came from some Hindu scripture, I think. Why are you interested? Going to try for Dark Lordship this year? Let me know now, so I can get a bet down on you early, while the odds are still good."

Harry wasn't answering her, just muttering under his breath: "Atom bombs, god hammers, who the hell are these people? How did she get mixed up with them?"

A week after sending Harry off to school, four days after putting an excited Annette on an airplane to Boston, two days before Julia Rosmerta-Black went into a short labor before delivering a healthy girl they named Chrysikori ("Golden Maiden"), a piece of metal arrived by UPS and the Owl Mail to the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmead. It was partially melted and a hole had been burned through both the front and rear. Sirius was barely able to confirm it was the same piece that he had sent with Hahn. Every test he, and his talented friend Remus, could do proved that there was no magic, ghost, or anything of the like, still attached to it. According to Otto, lightning had worked very well.

Sirius was glad the locket was taken care of, and sent word to Harry through indirect means. Well, asked Hagrid to tell Harry that Otto had done the job. But Sirius was not the same man who had gotten into Azkaban by being feckless and unthinking those long years ago. Now what occupied his mind was: what exactly were the locket and the diary? And were there any other things like them?


	38. Chapter 38

I do not own, or receive any benefit, from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 38- Communications.

_ From: The Desk of Madame X_

_For: The Eyes of Harry Potter_

_ Re: Everything_

_ Everything is fine here. Little Bro is shooting up like a weed, he had a great summer, his girlfriend came out for a month. She's only 9, so it must have been so cute to see them together. Don't laugh at them though, they really are serious about it, they even have their plans ready to set up a joint Emergency Medical Clinic and Veterinary Clinic when they get married. If you knew them you'd see it makes sense._

_ Big Bro is in college, doing some part time work for spare change for an NGO also. You can tell Sirius that he got his package all right. Our baby gift for the Golden Child should be arriving soon. Tell him to send pictures, I want to see!_

_ I love my new school. No offense, but except for when Hermione was up I hadn't had any real brain to brain competition in years, 'till now. The guys (like 92% are guys, it's a brain chemistry thing) are so sharp we're always making sparks when we argue, sweet. They make me see some things Big Brother has been harping on for years, stuff the PTB sort of try to skirt over. Oh, Powers That Be._

_ My special projects are going well, and soon I'll be able to figure out how long it will be until I'm Queen of the World, or something like that. Megalomania is very big in my new school. That's refreshing, after being in places where Jocks and Cheerleaders ruled the roost. Now it's Power to the Nerds!_

_ Don't like it too much when the Nerds check out my butt, though. Some things never change. I'm like the youngest person here, and I'd really prefer someone closer to my age (nudge, nudge, hint, hint). But mostly they're good guys._

_ Tell Ron he really needs to be more obvious with his comedy, most people only go down about an inch, and he is so much deeper than that._

_ I'll be writing to Neville, let it be a surprise. He needs self-confidence So Much!_

_ Don't let Hermione know, but I'm sending her a book package, novels! Pure Space Opera, Lois Bujold's Vorkosigan Saga. If you're kind to her, she might let you read them afterwards. And tell her that next time we have an Arithmancy duel, I intend to win!_

_ Of course, burn this letter and carefully discard the ashes._

_A hundred times love (I want to work up to the serious stuff) your own._

Harry read the letter for the second time. It was Annette to core. Everything was there, neatly typed and clear to see, but there was also something hidden, secret. Someone else might have asked to keep the letter private; only she would have asked to have it burned, and the ashes carefully disposed of. He supposed even a completely burned letter could be reassembled with the right spell, if all the ashes were available, so her request wasn't insane. Just why a chatty letter from a girl to a boy should be treated as a super-secret message wasn't really clear to him. Then again, exactly how the envelope had gotten onto his pillow between lunch time and dinner time was a mystery in itself.

Right now, Harry wouldn't mind being super-secret himself. Having half… no, 92% (at least) of the school hating him was certainly a good reason to want to be anonymous and slink around in the shadows. At least now he knew for certain somebody out there hated him. The only people he knew that didn't think he had entered himself in the Triwizard Tournament were Hermione and Luna. Neville said he wasn't sure but didn't care. Which was better than Ron, who was both sure and pretty resentful that he had been left out of the prank. He was still being civil though, so that probably meant something. At least he had time to write a long letter back to Annette, as with Quidditch canceled what else did he have to do with his time? The instructions on how to handle outgoing mail had been written on the outside of Annette's letter. Men from Cathay.

_ From: The Desk of Madame X_

_ For: The Eyes of Harry Potter_

_ Re: The Bastards!_

_ I rage! I Rage!_

_ Now that that is out of the way, if you want I'm certain I can get Leo out to Hogwarts, he's very good at getting to the bottom of things. And if people get in his way, they get pushed out of it. I'm serious Harry; someone is out to get you. You didn't start it, but it won't stop just because you're innocent. Leo can help you do the work; when he gets going he doesn't mind breaking laws, or legs. I think you need him, please say yes! _

_ I'm glad H and L are there for you. I'll write on this to N. And ream out Ron, he should know better! This is such an obvious Black Operations ploy he should see right through it. The way your Headmaster hasn't done anything to get you out of it is, probably, criminal. Could you have H forward me some material on Wizarding Law?_

_ Bright side? At least some of the people who think you were involved still support you: Twins (I wish I'd got to meet them more) and Sirius. And from what you wrote last time, the scandal is keeping Ginny subdued. Small consolations, but a start._

_ Family news: Big Bro has a girlfriend, Little Bro has a puppy (Lab), some bad stuff almost happened to me, but BB's courses in creative paranoia and my awesome Tai Chi got me through, with a little help from my fiends, or was it friends? Anyway the jerk is totally ruined now, he'll never get into a grad program again, and his assault charges were totally squelched! Sorry to bring this up when you have real problems, but I thought that you should know this kind of stuff._

_ If you need me, I can get there too, really. I have some pull with the Admin here, time off no problem. But I think Leo would be useful also._

_ Yours._

Well, not exactly a snub. "Harry, darling, can I send you my psychopathic cousin to trash Wizarding Britain until he finds who's been gunning for you? Please?" At least that meant another person who didn't think he was a fame mad glory hog, too bad she was on the other side of an ocean. Still, it's the thought that counts, right?

Harry thought of all the mornings he'd looked out the window and seen Otto making Annette go through her Tai Chi throws and grapple releases. Creative paranoia? He felt sick. What had really happened over there? If it had really been minor she wouldn't have run on about it. It had been something dangerous to her, but now she had put it behind her and was ready to work for Harry James Potter. Except if Dumbledore couldn't do anything, and Sirius had (even though he thought Harry had entered himself) tried, and the other Headmasters, there really wasn't much anyone could do.

Harry thought about walking around for the next few years with Cousin Leo as his bodyguard. Some seven foot tall Muggle (he would be a Muggle, no doubt) with a scowl and a snarl keeping the crowds back. A sort of Crabbe and Goyle combined. A human shield to block the crowds throwing vegetables, or sometimes flowers, as you could never tell with wizards. He might be useful after all, Harry could think of a few legs he wouldn't mind broken.

_ From: The Desk of Annette Hahn_

_ For: Ronald Weasley_

_ Re: Cranial/Rectal Separation Procedure_

_ Ron, remove your head from your ass. Now that you're angry at me instead, start thinking clearly about Harry's situation. He doesn't need any fame in the Wizarding world. He gets enough excitement from playing Quidditch and having various vengeful ghosts and Jr. League demons try to kill him. He dislikes having to make speeches and prefers to be in the back of the crowd making snarky comments. I've been told he doesn't need the money. Why would he enter his name in the cup? How would he have done it? _

_ I'm sure the means are possible, the motivation, for Harry, is lacking. Think ploy. Think Mr. Chess Shows a Real Intellect, gambit. That's a nice chess sounding word, right? Personally I don't think an isolated intellectual talent really shows general intelligence, but I'll make an exception in your case, 'cause I like you. If you had an enemy, would some the things that have happened this year to Harry have happened to you? Think about it. Refer back to the first line of this letter._

_ Please destroy letter when done._

_Yrs. Annette_

Ron took back the letter from Harry's hand. "I know you made pretty much the same points to me, just it seems more persuasive when written down by a girl who you'd like to get in her knickers. Don't look so shocked, nothing like that is going to happen, at this distance at least. I've just got an abstract admiration for her, different interest right now." With that he sent a simple cantrip to ignite the paper.

"You were right, I was wrong. Glad I got that out of the way. Luna was working on me too, trying to get me to see reason. But I'm not just a fool for a pretty face; Charlie's back in town. Or Britain at least. But he couldn't stay over at the Burrow, because according to Mum, he has to keep his stock in line. Charlie being a Dragon Wrangler, that means that a bunch of dragons must be being kept somewhere in Britain. Outside of the Forbidden Forest do you know of any place isolated enough to keep a few extra dragons secretly? And if the dragons are in the Forest, why would they be around here? Starting tomorrow I'll join you in the Library looking up Dragons: How to control, fool or slay."

"Luna?"

"Yes, Luna. Think you're the only one with a hidden relationship? Let's get 'Mione up to speed."

_From: Madam X_

_ For: The eyes of Harry Potter_

_ Re: Homefront news and notes_

_ I was so happy to hear about Ron and Luna, I hope it works out and lasts. Which leads to the next item on the agenda. _

_ You haven't told me if Leo should slouch his way into your life, and make others miserable. I really think he could help. He really doesn't work for bookies or loan sharks, that was just us joking. He's good at what he does, and he knows the local scene. Please respond favorably._

_ BB is no longer taking work from the NGO; he had an altercation (learn a new word every day, I say) with his supervisor and will not accept any jobs that guy is associated with. I got some FOTW of how he quit. To wit:_

_ 'I have long known that you were an idiot._

_ That you were also a brute is common knowledge._

_ Your lust for undeserved public acclaim is the stuff of legends._

_ When you fuck up a job that we have completed perfectly, turn safety into danger,_

_And demean the office you hold, I must refuse to work with you, _

_For you, or under you. A copy of my withdrawal from active service has been forwarded_

_To the proper authorities, as are the reasons._

_ If you wish to make this personal, any day brother.'_

_ Which was pretty much "pistols at dawn, if you've got the balls for it." The guy didn't._

_ So BB has more time for his girl friend, though I don't see them lasting as she's a little shallow. I think he's mainly into it for the sex. At least I hope so; I wouldn't want to think his standards were that low. He's taking up edificing, that's something he learned about this summer. Climbing up the outsides of tall buildings at night, in the rain if possible I think. Which is so him! He hates high places. He says it's not to conquer his fears, it's to help him endure them. _

_ I'll be doing a test run on my main experiment, and will be very busy for the next few weeks, so if my letters get a little rare, it will just be sheer exhaustion._

_Yours, 10__X 10 X 10 love_

From the looks of it she had written a day of two before his last reply had gotten over there. It would have been a lot faster and easier if he actually knew where she was and could write directly, but she was MFC. Creative paranoia had its virtues, after all. Sirius had proposed a little experiment with his mail, and it had proved that at least half of his personal letters had been tampered with. Maybe all of them, it was hard to tell. He had taken to leaving all the innocuous ones out on his desk, and anything serious was either destroyed or kept on him.

It seemed Ron, with his mind engaged, was nearly as methodical as Hermione in setting up a schedule for hard work. He'd gone over the info on dragons with Harry, and set up four different sets of plans, depending on breed and 'extant conditions'. Then he'd had Harry practice essentially anything that would outwit, confuse or injure a beast notoriously hard to outwit, confuse or injure. With his mates' help, Harry felt he might even survive, at least the first challenge.

_From: Annette_

_ For: Harry_

_ Re: Relationships_

_ So glad you're alright. To get away with beating a dragon with minor burns means that you are absolutely awesome! But who ever doubted you? _

_ All the guys at school are like five or six years older than me, and the ones I care to hang around with treat me as their loveable but annoyingly brilliant little sister, I'm used to that. Unlike BB, these guys are actually at my IQ level, though socially they seem to mostly be even more socially retarded than he is. So they're like cousins you care about, but wouldn't invite to someplace table manners count._

_ My project went AWACBE (As Well As Can Be Expected), and a longer test run will start soon. Again, it will screw up my letter writing. I thought about it, and pissy as the conclusion is, here goes: I'm not going to be able to see you for months at best. Poor, poor, pitiful me! At least I suffer from the family curse, soaring over-achieverdom. We tend toward the fanatic about getting our jobs done. And there are no hyper-cute boys around here, anyway, to distract me._

_ You, from what I saw when we went shopping in Diagon, are in hot babe central. Even your best friend is hot. The only reason BB didn't make a pass at her was that she was jailbait, and he's really rigid about things like that. Anyway, as someone who loves you: if you see someone wonderful, go for it. If you see someone your heart says, "Maybe her." Ask her out; ask her to have your babies. You're going into battle every day you wake up, not just when those stupid contests are being held. I have it on reliable authority that things like that makes guys horny, not that you ever had any problem with that, so make it hornier. _

_This isn't "use some girl until we can be together again." I know you too well; you're not much of a user. This is "we never made promises (probably both of us were too smart for that) so this is not us breaking up. It's someone who deeply cares about you saying she knows her life won't intersect with yours much, and that she wants you to find the someone who will make you happy." So go! Seize the day, the year, your whole life! _

_ I hope you can still care for me, at least a little. I will continue to care for you._

_Yrs, always._

Hermione looked at the crumpled letter guiltily. She had come up to the boy's dorm to drop off her evaluation of Harry's clue, and how to approach it, when he had shoved the letter into her hand. He had waited until she had read it, and then asked:

"It's because I'm stupid, right? She finally met some people she can talk to, the way she can talk to you, and she couldn't put up lowering herself to my level anymore, right?"

Hermione slowly read through it again. As Harry paced angrily back and forth she thought about it, weighed how things were phrased, and were they were located.

"Sorry Harry, no. You aren't stupid, and she doesn't say you are, just that she loves being at a place where she has to work at her best to stay up with rest. For that matter, when Otto told her to do something, or dredged up one of his impossibly obscure facts, did she deny it, or give him backtalk? She's being sensible about your situation, and doesn't like it, and is trying to do what's best for both of you. I don't think she has anyone else, over there; I think she wants you to have someone over here, and knows it can't be her."

"I'm not a sex maniac; I don't need to start looking up the girls listed in the water closet stalls!" At Hermione's look he continued, "Yes, written on the walls; names, Houses and year. They don't stay up long, there's a sort of competition between students finding better lasting marking spells and the house-elves figuring out how to clean them off. I've never seen a name up there that wasn't a possible; you have to wonder if the same info is up in the other Houses, and if Malfoy knows about the reputation of his Constant Companion."

"It's not about you being a maniac. It's about her knowing that both of you need to be free, and look for the people you need to be happy. It's about not being too delicate with each other to admit that while it might have worked, the time just wasn't right."

"You're just like her, Hermione Granger! Too bloody smart and nice!" With that Harry stormed out of the room, leaving Hermione startled.

People had disparaged her for being too smart, for showing off, for being bossy or looking like a fright. She knew she annoyed even her friends sometimes with her rigidity and excessive focus. She'd never had any one get angry with her before because she was excessively understanding and nice. She looked at the letter again; pretty Annette said that she was 'hot', and that Otto (an older man) had thought so too, but didn't do anything just because he wasn't a _dirty_ older man? He wasn't really that much older, it would have been nice if he had mentioned it, at least. She put the letter into an inner pocket of her robe, and buttoned it. She knew that Harry would want to deal with the letter personally later on, when he felt calmer. As she left the room she began to compose her own response, there were things that had to be said.

_Dear X_

_ I know that you are not Annette Hahn; I strongly suspect that BB is not Otto Hahn, but that he is probably a relative. I know that you have hurt Harry, and I know how hard it was for you to do so. I think that you did it in what you thought were his best interests, and even agree with you on that. Sad isn't it?_

_ You didn't write your last letter until he had completed his task, lest he be depressed and distracted. You wrote it as soon as you thought he would have a quiet period to recover in. He is certainly down right now, but has already, in the two weeks since he received your letter, started to recover, at least a bit. I thought it only fair to let you stew in guilt a while, even if you weren't being cruel, you had hurt him, and deserved it. I rather think you would agree with me. _

_ Harry knows I am writing to you; he doesn't hate you. In his rational part he has come around to understanding your arguments; teen boys are not meant to have romantic relationships across oceans with strange girls, that however affectionate, have never revealed the truth about themselves._

_ I am sure you had good reason for your lies. I am sure that you never tried to use them for advantage. The way you met him was mere chance; you would never have risked Otto (for want of a better name) in that battle at Black's place. I have talked with Julia; another inch, more or less, might likely have killed him. Still, you hurt Harry, so you must suffer some more. Once again, I repeat, I'm sure that you agree. In the end we will all work through this, don't worry that when (whenever it is) we meet things will be awkward. But that will pass, and we will laugh together again. First, though, you will have to tell us your real name, I won't let you near him until you do._

_ I will write soon, with requests for books, gossip about people, and problems in advanced maths and Ancient Runes. Harry will be more cheerful, and I think (though I cannot guarantee it) all will be forgiven. For the others, Ron, Luna and Nev: they are confused but following my lead in this. If you want to write to them, feel free, just don't touch on sore points. Merlin, I feel like such a dictator, telling you to do this, or allow you to do that. I don't mean it that way! But you knew that already._

_Yours, the already beginning to warm up to you again,_

_Hermione._

It was five weeks later before a reply came back, one not written by the girl who wasn't Annette.

_Dear Hermione,_

_ My sister is currently indisposed, though all indications of a full recovery are there, so I am answering your correspondence until she is fully enough recovered. Her experiment was a success, but required an unexpected degree of concentration and energy; it quite drained her of both. She does not regret the cost, so neither do I._

_ Congratulate Harry on figuring out the clue. Even with cheating being the standard procedure in the contest he seems to be doing well. A search of available information here, though I don't doubt you have already come up with even more useful stuff, indicates one approach is something called Gillyweed. Neville should be of help there, as it something of a botanical nature._

_ I have been receiving information of what is going on in Dear Olde Scotland from a reliable source: let's have the black dog give a bow! Accordingly I know at least half of what is happening. My sister was very reticent, except to say it has to be over, and needing brotherly comforting. Don't worry, duly applied. Still, I think it has helped her become who she must become. Gnomic, no?_

_ Luckily she had already read, but not disposed of your last letter to her. I have, with typical Big Brotherly lack of manners, read it, which has filled in all needed blanks I think._

_ We, whom ever we are, have never acted with malice or desire to harm any within your circle. Her actions, and emotions toward Harry were, are, sincere and beyond merely affectionate. I had hoped, unrealistically, for a happier resolution of their relationship. She will recover, he will recover, and we all will deal with worse things in the near future._

_ I am glad that a young man I admire has friends and allies such as you, Ron, Neville, Sirius, Luna, and many others who will each, in their proper time, reveal themselves. No, no puppet mastering from me, just confidence that as like flocks to like the positive forces will array and act. Even as an outsider the evidence appears to me to be clearly pointing to increased likelihood of intensified danger. No overarching conspiracy is needed, the crows are circling. _

_ A woman of your ingenuity should have no difficulty figuring out how to access those that you will need to find. If it is your desire, I am among them._

_I remain, Yr Obt Serv,_

_Not Otto Hahn_

Hermione was certain that Not Otto Hahn hadn't meant to write those last few lines exactly as they had come out. Lately she had seen too many things that seemed just a touch too much, suggesting without defining just what was going on. No doubt if she was Wizard born, and could believe (though her favorite teacher didn't either) in Divination it would make sense. While she didn't believe in Trelawney, Divination she might give another chance.


	39. Chapter 39

I do not own, or receive any profits from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 39- A mirror, darkly

Harry was working hard at preparing himself for the next challenge. Learning warming charms and physical training in preparation for the coming underwater contest were just the obvious ways to do that. Having the most talented botanical student in the school growing the needed Gillyweed completed the rest of the preparations that Ron wanted in place. Until more was known from new information, or analyzed from the egg's song, Harry would just have to get in shape and try to get used to the difficulties of a submerged quest. He kept his wand with him, and carried it everywhere he went in a special holster Remus had gotten him. Dragon-hide, spelled to protect its contents from flame, frost or water, with places for a wand, a knife (or Athame) and a roll of cord. On the premise of "you just never know" Harry had taken to carrying Otto's knife and a roll of nylon fishing line in the other compartments.

Before the Christmas Holidays, Hermione was tempted to do a little independent rule breaking. For her, of course, that naturally meant the Library. In particular those sections of the Library that even her best efforts had never allowed her to get into before, the chained books of the Restricted Section of the Library, in fact.

While Harry and Ron ran, wrestled, swam (and worked diligently on avoiding freezing to death in a Scottish lake in winter), Hermione used a certain borrowed invisibility cloak, her slowly developing skills at silent movement, and a seemingly natural talent for picking locks on desk drawers to acquire Madame Pince's master set of keys for long enough to make a set of copies. This being, after all, the Hogwarts Library it was necessary to then spend a week figuring out what spells to put the keys so that they would actually unlock the various enchanted locks that guarded first the Restricted Section, and then the fourth shelf on the third bookshelf from the rear wall. There, long ago, Hermione had seen on an earlier forbidden expedition, **The True Arte of Foretelling (for all the good it will do you) by Unis Vacumnos, Quintillion's Press, 1603.**

Hermione was working on a general principal that she had learned in over three and a half years of study at Hogwarts. While the regular contents of the Library were useful enough for the basic school assignments, all the really interesting stuff was locked up and hard to get at. She wasn't sure if that was some sort of aptitude test: if you couldn't find a way to sneak in to get the good stuff, you weren't good enough to use it… or if it was just the general tendency of more and more powerful spells and techniques to be cut from the curriculum, untaught, and finally lost. The chained section seemed to be the last stop before material was either destroyed, or ended up in the private collections held by rich pureblood families eager to have an advantage over the witch-in-the-street. So: chained, and about to be hidden from the general public probably equaled something very useful and valuable. At least she hoped so. If it was only being chained up because it had a book plate saying it had once belonged to the library of Amberose Swott (Headmaster 1562-1604) she would have wasted weeks she could have spent studying Conversational Latin.

**Introduction to The True Arte of Foretelling, Page 6:**

** If we could see the future whole and bare there would, of a certainty, be no reason to bother doing so. For if it is to be, it will be. Our searching for foreknowledge would be vain and useless. But to our profit and honor we create the future at the moment it becomes the Now, and what we may investigate is but the rumblings of the Players tuning their instruments before the performance; they try little snatches of the tunes to come, off key and off paced. And for those who know the skill and arte this is enough to give a fair indication of what they are likely to hear. So it is with the Artes of Divination, Scrying and Prophesy (if it were done honestly). But the music doth not sound until it is played, and if we put in our note a beat too soon or late we shall not have made a tune blissful to our ears.**

**Methods of Foretelling, Page 23:**

**The more narrowly and literally we try to define the images that are closest to being born to the world, with us the midwives and wise women of Fate, the more the events that will transpire will mock us and deceive. All useful Scrying has a full measure of ambiguity and is cast in terms allowing for a degree of interpretation. For by our visions we change what we see, and the more we make clear what we see, the more they become deceptive of their meanings. **

** Accordingly the most useful and true of views of the future will be covered by symbol and allegory; it is for the Wise to decypher their import and prepare, like wise sailormen, for both the prospect of a well plotted course, and one that is a bit too near a lea shore for comfort, and must be tacked a bit by a fine trained crew to avoid unseen and hidden shoals in what seems to be clear and safe waters.**

** Upon the next page is the receipt of what my own experience (hardly won and at some cost) has shown to be the potion most of use in giving our inner self the long eyes to see better through the misty years to the uncertain shapes that will be licked into shape, like a bear's cub, by our will and action. Unlike some I shall give my cautions while still they may offer safety.**

** Primus-Preparation must be faultless. **

**Secundus-Prepare your question well, you may hope at best to have the question you ask, answered. The one you do not ask will certainly not be.**

** Tertius-Use this way but once a year. Diving too often in these deep waters will either remove the ability to swim in them at all, or condemn the user to never leaving them, giving up all his todays to always be in possible tomorrows. **

Luckily, the chain holding the book to the shelf was a cheap one, pot metal at best, and was easily pried open at a weak link. The book itself fit easily into her satchel, and gave no trouble as she carefully left the Restricted Section, neatly locking up behind her.

All during the Holidays, whenever she wasn't trying to be a perfect daughter, Hermione went over the book. She wanted no chance for an "Oops!" moment when her mind was on the line. Back at Hogwarts she launched right into her preparations.

The directions were clear, despite certain archaic spellings and alchemical terms. The ingredients were uncommon, but findable. The techniques held no terrors to someone who had managed to brew Polyjuice as a Second year. Three days of near constant work managed to produce the potion. It was so clear that only the slightest increased weight of the holding bottle hinted that she had produced anything at all. The procedure for use was thankfully practical. No lying naked on a cromlech at midnight during the new moon of the longest night of the year. Dress comfortably, wear warm socks (what was it with wizards and socks?), lie down on the ground on a mattress or blanket (away from any drop offs that you could roll over)someplace you won't be disturbed, and leave a note somewhere for a friend to look for you if you haven't shown up for twelve or more hours. Oh, and have a good question.

She felt her question was definite enough: "Where can I find aid, or what can I do, which will be most likely to help Harry Potter face and defeat his enemies? If more than one possibility please give them in ascending order of practicality and effectiveness. Thank you." That seemed to cover things. She wasn't really worried about the Triwizard Tournament; Ron seemed to have that well under control. She was going to try to deal with the yearly attempts to kill Harry. Each seemed to have a connection to… that person. If she could only try this once a year, she decided to go for the gusto!

Her note (one copy each for Ron and Harry) simply gave a time and "meet me where we first found Fluffy." It was a little after lunch on Sunday when she drank the potion (it almost felt like sipping air), and lay down on a doubled up blanket on the floor of the room that had started their adventures their First year. She spoke her question, and suddenly realized that she was walking on a garden path. An unusual garden, as all that was in it were thorny shrubs that seemed to be trying to reach out and grab her. It looked like several hours past sunset.

Mist began to obscure anything more than a step or two away from her. Things had undoubtedly gotten Deeply Symbolic. Finally she saw a darkening up ahead; a tall wall with a closed door in it. Facing the door was a pale-haired form. Even from the back she had no difficulty recognizing who it was. Even in her visions she had to run into Draco Bloody Malfoy! As he turned around she noticed an anomaly, he was wearing a cloak that she had recently become familiar with, the fur collared robe of Durmstrang.

He seemed a little taller than she remembered, and though he had an arrogant smirk on his face it didn't seem like a sneer. Diagonally across his face, almost catching an eye, there was a scar, an old one by the color. His eyes scanned her up and down. She felt like blushing; it wasn't the normal Malfoy looking for something to criticize, it was more like he was checking her out. Whatever he saw seemed to please him, his expression became a true smile.

"How may I help you, lady witch? Or perhaps you can help me? I feel that I am on the outside of where I should be. Do you bear the key that will let me through the gate, or the spell that will batter down the wall?"

She noticed he had some sort of silver insignia on this collar, a Durmstrang emblem of authority. She pointed at it: "Where'd you get that, Draco? Someone will certainly want their cloak back if you don't hurry and return it."

"Your tone is harsh, lady. And this is my own garment, with my hard earned marks of rank on it. You seem to have the advantage of me, knowing my name, while I can only hope to know yours."

She suddenly realized this was Draco Malfoy all right, it just wasn't _her_ Draco. It was an altogether new and improved Draco Malfoy. Certainly having this one around, instead of the useless current version, could only improve things for Harry and all of them.

"I'm Hermione Granger, a witch of Hogwarts. I could try to help you, if you told me your problem, and perhaps in time you could return the favor."

"I was suddenly here, in this dreary garden, made pleasant only by your presence. I am certain that through this gate lies home, my school, and most of all my brothers and sisters. Open this gate, and by the honor of the Malfoy's I will be in your debt, and will joyfully give you my aid, as will Misha and all our companions."

She advanced, placed her hand on the door. It was firmly closed, but it seemed to have certain points around the edges where it was stuck, like a humidity swollen drawer. Her hands started to pound on those spots, with her right foot giving a good kick to the last one down at the base. The door creaked open, revealing on the other side a stone passage bathed in shadow. She glanced at Draco, he was positively beaming.

"I tried, but couldn't budge it; you merely had to tap out its hidden code. Let me reward you with a friendly kiss."

"Sorry, emotionally committed thank you. Better luck next time. We must do this again, sometime. Oh, if you go back there, how do I find you again?"

His smile, which had vanished when she didn't take him up on the reward, came back: "I think, Miss Granger, that finding and opening in that case will be by your power and wisdom. Nothing I could do stirred the gate an inch. If we are to meet again it will be by your doing, though to my pleasure."

He was certainly not giving up on the charm offensive. A young man, short but exceptionally handsome, appeared in the passage and called out "Draco!" The name was certainly not being spoken by an English user. Draco practically jumped through the opening yelling out "Misha, frate!" The door slammed shut, and with a woof of air wall, gate, and all disappeared.

Well, that was certainly well up in the symbolic and confusing zone, she thought.

Looking around her she saw it was still dark, and up ahead there was the lit up entrance to a cavern. It was obvious that her question had more than one possible answer, and up ahead was an alternate to finding ways to what was obviously a version of Durmstrang filled with eye candy.

As she entered the cave she at least knew where she was: Nightmare Country. The feeling was the one she remembered from a trip to an amusement park with a "haunted house" section. The path beneath her feet was barely lit; shadows were writhing to either side, with nasty quarter seen things popping in and out of peripheral vision. At least the Main Attraction seemed to be up ahead. The narrow passage opened up to a large chamber, with a number of shelves on the walls, tripods with flames illuminating everything, indistinct Things held by pentagrams around the edges, a large stone table with someone besides it and someone on it, and a lit chandelier directly above the table. No candles were burning there; a Hand of Glory instead, though the fingers were of huge size.

As Hermione entered the room she must have made a noise. The person turned, and smiled. It was her, Hermione Granger, with perhaps another four or five years. A bit taller and she had done something to her hair, a fuller figure. And excellent skin tone, you could easily tell, since except for a wide leather belt all of her skin was on display. That was only reasonable, as most of her front, and her arms up to her elbows, were shiny with blood. Even with magic human blood was the devil to get off of clothing.

"Oh, hello me, glad I could drop in. You're probably wondering what is going on, simple really. Logic says, fight fire with fire. So, fight death magic with death magic. Voldie-boy is so limited, using Wizard's spells in a real war! We may not have his extra fifty years to learn, but think outside the cauldron is my… well, our motto!

"There are demons, you know. Older and hardier than any Giant or Troll. So, find the right doors, make the right deals. We can get by with a little help from our friends, if we have the right friends. They do love a picnic."

With that her older self picked up a knife from the table and with an expert swipe took off a toe from the figure bound on the table. Hermione was sure that she could have recognized the struggling figure, if the nose, lips and ears had still been on her. Her older version tossed the tidbit to the nearest of the things, who crunched it with gusto.

"Darling Harry thinks his enemies are just running away too fast to be caught. He's too pure to really understand how things have to be done, don't you agree? Trans-temporal conversations with oneself is a bit tricky, isn't it? Anyway, soon my little pets will have to be fed to my patron to pay the tariff. Then Mr. Splits-His-Soul will find eternal life can be truly unpleasant, if the climate is bad enough." Older Hermione giggled. "It's all for a good cause, so watch me feed and train the pack, it will come in handy for you-me later."

Forth-year Hermione smiled, nodded, and slowly back up. When she had put what she hoped was enough distance between her and herself, she turned and ran out into the thorny garden, the mist thicker and clammier. When she looked back over her shoulder there was no beckoning light behind her.

She fell to her knees and began to vomit; fear and disgust and shame making her empty herself onto the wide, dark meadow. A functioning part of her mind noticed the change in scenery, while the rest of it just repeated to itself: "I'm mad, a monster, a psychopath, a killer. I should run away and never see my friends again. They can't ever want to see me if I'm like _that_."

The mist around her had disappeared, and she tried to get back up. She found that she was as high up as she could be on her four feet. Four feet? With a fluid wrench she straightened up and then looked down on her body as she balanced easily on her rear legs. She looked down her front; no clothing, but a short coat of yellow-tan fur. Her femininity was still evident, on closer examination. Her sense of smell was sharp, something was coming from upwind.

She wasn't human; perhaps she deserve that. She hadn't done any of the horrible things in the cave yet, but now she knew that if pushed she could. Then she realized, actually, she could choose to never do them. The person she had met was a _possible_ choice of who she could become, if she tried. Hermione had always realized that she had a temper, now she started to realize she had a core within her that would go to any length, do any horror, to protect those she loved. Loved?

Forms began to emerge in front of her. Two large, one smaller. The smaller one started to run towards her, something flying around it in soaring orbits. Hermione prepared to dodge. Before she could get her unfamiliar body to do more than drop back to all fours the figure resolved itself into a leaping black beast that tackled and pinned her to the ground. And then began to lick her face. Either it liked her a good deal, or it was getting a good taste before devouring her.

A sound like low thunder vibrated the ground and she was left free enough to get back onto her feet. She had been knocked down by a large, black, lively, smiling dog. Not a Grim, like Sirius, but a Labrador Retriever, with the oversized paws of a half-grown pup. It gave her another lick, and began to trot off. A small brown and white speckled owl settled on its shoulder, and began to preen at its ears.

A great hairy beast was walking up to her. She had never seen something like it, but there was a lingering memory that somewhere, in a place of tinkling silver and strange scents, something like this had alarmed and fascinated her. It was more like a blocky bodied cat than anything else. It was gently tapping a ball, jade green, with first one paw and then the other, like it was moving up field at a football game. It had a long tail behind it, which at some point turned into a snake. It brushed against her, gently, and as it passed the snake-tail came over and kissed her cheek with its forked tongue. She noticed that the ball the creature was playing with had carvings on it, a sort of stylized atom gently glowing a lighter green than the background.

This was a welcome relief; friendly creatures, impossible or not. No nightmares among them. But the most interesting, impossible and symbolic creature was the last one that was coming toward her. She couldn't place it, but it was familiar; a nice, relaxing, mundane research project seemed to be in her future.

It was large, sleek, and powerful. Its head was like some Egyptian bird of prey. It walked on four cat-like legs, with a long and a tufted tail. Hermione knew that this was somehow not quite right, but all the strangeness of the legs and tail, and no visible wings to go with the head were minor compared to the major oddness. It was semi-translucent, with little patterns like slow lightning coursing through its body under the skin. As it came up to her it sat on its haunches, stuck it's tongue out at her, winked, and then jumped over her, laughing, as it bounded off to catch up to the others. What had that been about?

Certainly there was something to think about there! Symbolic as hell, and vague enough to fulfill Vacumnos' recommendations. Hermione hoped that this was the last option, she was feeling very tired. The potion was probably wearing off.

Then, across the night grey plain, she saw another something coming toward her in great, long, bounds. Hermione reared herself up again, to get a better view, and glancing at her paws realized what she had become. She was a Meerkat! Not some horrible thing, but a sleek and supple mongoose. That would help her make sense of all this when she was back in her own head again.

As she had this revelation her visitor pulled up in front of her. A monkey, in embroidered silk robes, carrying a long staff. It smiled, bowed, and recited:

"Why roam in might-be

While blood flows in crystal halls

Gardener's delight.

"Or perhaps it should be: Bring gardeners life? Forgive the roughness, don't have a lot of time; hope to see you soon, ciao!"

With that the girl (Hermione had no doubt about that) stuck the pole into the ground. It elongated up into an indefinite sky. Despite the bulky robes the monkey began climbing out of sight at a fantastic speed. Leaving only another riddle (this time in verse) on top of all the other enigmas, hallucinations, and ambiguous auguries.

She groaned as she came to her senses. Every muscle and joint that she knew about was sore, her hands and feet were frozen, and the window showed that it was now night.

She rolled to her knees, stood up and hobbled to her book bag, getting out parchment and a pen to record everything she could remember before it got all blurry. For some reason the last encounter struck her as particularly important, and she started to write it down, the verse first. She was Granger, not Gardener, what was that about? She knew a gardener, of course. "Blood flows in crystal halls." Hermione started to run as fast as her stiff legs could carry her, down the hallways and stairs, to a door to the outside she could force open, to the path leading toward Greenhouse 5.


	40. Chapter 40

I do not own, or profit from, the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 40: What did she know, and how did she know it?

As she burst through the door Hermione saw that several of the greenhouses had lights on. If you were trying to force tropical magical plants to grow during a Scottish winter it was a necessity. Oddly enough Greenhouse 5, where Neville had been putting in many late nights, including his growing of Harry's Gillyweed, wasn't as fully lit up as she expected. They had been out to visit him after dark before, and Ron had remarked on how warm all the lights made the building.

Movement had loosened her up, and Hermione was moving at a good clip as she reached the entrance and shot through. She didn't stop to close the door behind her; somewhere in her mind a voice was saying: "Time, do I have time?"

As she turned the corner around one of the series of benches holding the pots of various marsh plants, she saw the preparation area and potting bench. Suspended from a support beam, hanging by his feet Neville Longbottom was slowly swinging, with a red tube leading down from each arm into a canister on the floor. Running toward him she heard a word, "Crucio!" and felt her left leg erupt in agony. Turning as she fell she saw a robed figure behind her, wand in hand. She tried to respond with "Accio Wand" but missed as she hit the ground with her elbow, jarring her aim. Compared to the pain in her leg the damage to her elbow was hardly felt.

Hermione pushed up with her left arm, and got into a kneeling position, letting her move her wand arm enough to track the moving enemy. "Diffindo!" She yelled out, sending a Severing Charm at him. It seemed to hit, as he jerked and screamed a swear word. She tried to hit her target with a Stunning Spell, but her arm was trembling from the pain, and her aim was off. In turn her enemy yelled out "Confringo!" blasting the bench she was bracing herself against, and throwing her through several tiers of metal supports holding huge earthenware jugs full of soil and plants.

When she landed, and her head stopped whirling, she took stock of her situation: "I guess I am a real witch, I didn't let go of my wand. Splinters in me all over, thank goodness they missed my eyes. Oh, bad news. I think my left arm is broken. Yes, I can see the bone quite clearly. That's supposed to be especially bad, isn't it? Legs don't seem to work, can't run away either. I can hear him coming toward me. What to do? Sinking fast, getting dizzy, can't run. Granger you fool! Of course!"

With that she put the tip of her wand to her throat and cast the only spell that she still had the energy for, and that might be able to save Neville and herself: Sonorus. She yelled loud enough to unseat the Unbreakable panes of glass in the greenhouses roof and blow them off into space.

"Intruder in Greenhouse Five! Injuries bring blood! Intruder in Greenhouse Five, Longbottom hurt! Bring blood! Intru-" That was when another Confringo exploded some large urns a few feet to the right, and above her head, showering her with large shards of pottery, including one that struck her head, knocking her out.

Barty Crouch Jr. continued shooting, spraying Confringo spells for another moment toward where the damned noise had been coming from. When he stopped he was panting heavily; he hadn't done so many powerful spells in a row since before he had been sent to Azkaban. He advanced carefully until he could see the sprawled form of girl lying on… and under… potting soil and large fragments of clay pots. Blood all over, white bone showing from her left arm and right leg. That nuisance was taken care of. Time to go back to killing Longbottoms.

After he had stunned and bound the boy, before he had started bleeding him for the Dark Lord's purposes, Crouch had woken him up and let him know that this was just the completion of the mission from so many years ago, when the Lestranges and he had called in on Longbottom Manor. The look on Longbottom's face was precious, when he realized that one of the people that had destroyed his parents had come back to finish the job of eliminating his family. Crouch had never seen so much hate in a face without an Avada Kedavra following in short order. Then Crouch had stuck the tubes into his arms, leading down to the bottles to hold the needed blood, and had watched, giggling, as they went drip, drip, drip and filled with beautiful red .

The bottles were almost filled, so Crouch put their tops on, and let the tubes leak their stolen life fluid meaninglessly onto the floor. As he debated whether to wait a few more moments and watch the last flicker of life leave Longbottom's body the roof of the greenhouse burst inwards, and a witch on a broomstick, surrounded by broken glass and laths, was throw stunning spells around like a hose. She wasn't hitting anything, but it was obvious she was fresh and in the mood for combat. Crouch was exhausted, and didn't want to fail his master again. He grabbed at the bottles, got one while the other skittered off under a bench, and ran at his best speed for an exit. The spells continued to rain down around him, but the caster evidently had never tried to hit a moving target from a moving broomstick.

Professor Aurora Sinistra landed her broomstick with a hard thud. She wanted to pursue and catch the invader, but the briefest of glances had revealed that a student was in danger of bleeding to death, and she had a very clear set of priorities. She ran over to the child, tore the tubes out of his arms and cast a quick Episkey healing spell over the wounds. She wasn't sure on more potent healing spells in a situation like this; best to just get the bleeding stopped. Then she levitated his body and severed the rope that he had been suspended from. Taking a hint from the message she had heard all the way up on top of the Astronomy Tower she cast Sonorus on herself and called out, "Poppy, get out here! A student needs medical help. Bring Blood Potions. A lot of them. Oh, we're at Greenhouse number 5."

That reminded her that there should be someone else in the area, whoever had sent out the original call out. The Professor cautiously began to explore, and quickly saw a pathway of destruction. She followed it, and saw broken body of that Gryffindor girl, Granger. Annoying in an endearing, overachiever sort of way. She was certainly in need of professional help, far beyond anything Sinistra could provide. So, a few spells to immobilize the poor creature and wait until help arrived.

They arrived, one by one: McGonagall, Pomfrey, Flitwick, and finally Dumbledore. The children were moved carefully to the Infirmary. Potions were cautiously administered, and Hermione's bones gently pushed back into alignment before spells of healing were cast. Neither one would be out and running around within the next few days.

Going back to the scene of the… event, the Headmaster repaired the roof, the pots and benches, and cleaned up all the spilled topsoil and blood. It was certainly a good thing Aurora had decided years ago that just using her broomstick to get up and down from the Tower was easier than climbing the stairs a dozen times a day. She had been setting up things for the next class when she had heard the alarm and had just hopped on and rode down at full speed. Trust a Snake to keep her wits about her. Her quick action had spared him quite an embarrassment. Losing Granger would have been bad enough; Longbottom's grandmother was on the Board! Could he keep poor Neville incommunicado until everything blew over? No, no, just wouldn't do. Augusta had gotten into the habit of visiting the boy at least monthly, there was no way she would accept him being isolated. Especially as he had enough friends who would gossip to _their_ parents about the boy disappearing. The amount of work needed to control the information flow would be too much for anything but a total lockdown on mail, and that would be a red flag for his enemies.

How about: "Augusta, Neville had a little accident, but Poppy has him under care, and he'll be right as rain!" That would last a good five minutes, if he was lucky.

"Dr. and Dr. Granger, Hermione hurt her leg while running after dark, but for us wizards that's no more than a scratch. She'll be back at classes in no time. There's no need for you to visit."  
That might work, but she hardly mattered, anyway.

There were too many students and Staff that would have to be either Obliviated or oath-sworn for that to be a practical option. At best an appeal to school loyalty might keep Augusta from bringing Fudge in on things. The Staff could be controlled (at least only loyal members had heard the calls) as long as the Aurors weren't involved. While that would have to do, it did not do all that well. Best to get a call out to Augusta in a day or so. Hermione was a biddable girl, just telling her to not inform her parents should be enough. Ron Weasley would certainly find out; best to inform Molly, she'd be the one controlling things at that end. Harry really had no one to tell, and even if he did it would only be Black. And there was someone no one else would believe anyway!

Neville Longbottom wandered in and out of consciousness. They hadn't been giving him any pain or sleep potions, as they were too dangerous for someone as drained as he was. He was sure of a few things. He was in the Infirmary, with the right Professors (the ones he trusted) around him. Hermione had been the one who had burst in and saved him, and Professor Sinistra had chased his attacker away and stopped up his wounds. But the thing that he was most certain of was that someone calling themselves Barty Crouch Jr., a person that was supposed to have died in Azkaban, had tried to kill him, saying that he was acting on the orders of the Dark Lord Voldemort. Neville had looked up the fate of the group of Death Eaters that had attacked his family; all had been either killed or sent to Azkaban. Barty Crouch Jr. was listed as having died there. Neville didn't know Crouch by face, but he would check on it when he was healthy enough. He was sure, though, that Sirius Black wasn't the only person to escape from Azkaban.

Hermione Granger woke up to bright morning light coming in through the tall windows of the Infirmary, and the smell of bacon. Harry and Ron were next to her bed, and Ron had a slice of bacon in his hand and was waving it under her nose. She started to laugh; it was so perfectly Ron. The movement caused her to gasp with pain, evidently she had been so badly hurt that even wizarding medicine would need some time to get her back to normal.

"How's Nev? And thank you very much, Ron, they never serve you this sort of tasty stuff here, right Harry?" With that she managed to take a bite out of the bacon and joyfully began chewing it; she usually ate healthy oatmeal and the like, but today was certainly going to be an exception.

"He seems to be doing Ok, sleeping though. Pale as anything, but breathing fine. Well, not snoring as much as usual, but no complaints on that score. "

As Harry answered her Ron pulled out a serviette that had a muffin with raisins, and some more bacon, somewhat broken up. He began to slowly and carefully feed her pieces of both (he'd been in the Infirmary often enough himself to have a horror of what passed for food there). Harry continued to talk.

"We used the Cloak to sneak in here while Matron is out, badgering Snape for a whole new bunch of potions. With all the strangers and the Tournament going on she's going through the things like there's no tomorrow. What is it with you, Granger? We leave you alone for a few hours, and then we get cryptic notes to meet you somewhere. You don't show up, and the next thing we hear is you're sharing a room with Neville. Is there something we should know? Because these beds are awfully near each other."

At that point there was a stifled sound of laughter from the other bed, evidently Neville wasn't as asleep as they had thought.

"Ron, if you stop feeding her we might get the story out of her."

"My Mum always says you need a bit of food in your stomach in order to be strong enough to tell a good story."

"Ron, save some of that stuff for me, and I'll tell you the bits she can't."

All heads turned toward Neville, who's head was a little raised, and had a large smile on it. Ron made a quick calculation. "'Mione, I'll get you some more later, now I'll have to have some stuff to bribe Neville. But don't worry, we won't let you be starved!"

After getting down a mouthful of muffin Neville launched his story: "I was running late working on a couple of projects, the Gillyweed is doing fine, by the way. Anyhow, I heard the door open and thought nothing of it, figured it was probably one of you lot, or maybe Sprout. Any of the young loving couples we seem to be swamped with this year would have gone to one of the dark greenhouse, probably one with flowers.

"He must of hit me with a spell right off, 'cause the next thing I know I'm tied up, upside down, and he's got these two tubes in the veins of my arms with my blood going into some containers. Oh, and he introduces himself as Barty Crouch Jr. Who was one of the Death Eaters who attacked my home when I was a baby. He was supposed to have died in Azkaban; that will have to be checked on.

"He says he's on some sort of a mission for He-Who… well, you know. And he's finally going to wipe out my family. Just a moment after that Hurricane Hermione comes bursting in, and a wild fight gets started. I couldn't see much of it, but I'm certain that he wasn't happy to be facing you. Then I hear an Angel call out that there's trouble in Greenhouse 5, and things go a bit blank until _another _ Angel shows up, breaking through the roof, and its Professor Sinistra on a broom. The guy skedaddled, and then tons of people show up and gave me potions 'till my stomach almost burst. I definitely need bacon and toast, though muffins will do, to soak up all of that stuff."

With that Neville rolled onto his side, and laid his head on the pillow facing Hermione's bed. It was obvious that it was her turn to fill in the blanks. She decided to get right to the end, Pomfrey might get back any moment and chase the (uninjured) boys out.

"I'll start at the most important part. There was this monkey, in the most beautiful oriental robes, and she recited a poem, and the most important lines were: 'Blood flows in crystal halls, bring gardener's life.' So as soon as I had a second to think about it I realized that the most important person I knew that fit the bill was Neville, and he almost always works late in Greenhouse 5. Now it's simple as anything to see that you could call a greenhouse a building with crystal walls, and if there was a chance of blood flowing I had to go and check up on him at once, or I would have certainly rounded you guys up right then, but there really wasn't time. I knew that because the monkey, before she climbed up the pole into the sky, was insistent; it was actually the first line of the poem… it's a type called a haiku the Japanese write… that there wasn't any time to waste so I just came down as fast as I could and saw Neville-"

At that point Matron Pomfrey entered the room, saw that her patients were being kept from their rest, and with loud orders and not a little shoving, got Harry and Ron out of the Infirmary and back into the hallway outside. Then she stormed back in and gave the two remaining students in the ward clear instructions to rest, quietly, until when she would give them their next set of potions, and their healthy, small and bland lunches.

As they walked back to their dorm room, Ron turned to Harry and asked, "A monkey told her to rescue Neville?"

"Well, she might have been mistaken Ron," who nodded enthusiastically at that point, "it might have been an ape. Lots of people mix them up. She was pretty excited, really understandable when you think of it, getting mixed up."

"Not helping there, Harry. Monkey, ape, bleeding kangaroo; who or what had Hermione running from Fluffy's den all the way to Greenhouse 5 in time to distract someone from killing Nev? Not that I mind that, but what was she doing leaving us both notes to meet her there six hours later? What had she been doing there, and how did that make her get somewhere in the nick?"

Harry considered this, and put in his opinion: "Hermione has been doing some big project for the last few weeks. When she gets out of the isolation ward we'll get the full story, but it might be she was working on some sort of warning spell, letting her know when one of us was in danger, and where. That would fit the facts, but I'll reserve judgment till she can give us the full story. Preferably at a less full Hermione speed.

"Though I do think we might be wise to go up there and check the place for a few clues about what the Mysterious Miss Granger might have been up to, before the authorities get their thinking caps on and beat us to it."

Ron nodded at that, and the two of them altered their course toward the third floor corridor they had last gone to several years earlier.


	41. Chapter 41

I do not own, or receive any profits from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 41: You think you know someone…

The third floor corridors hadn't been anything special to anyone since their first year, so no one commented on seeing Weasley and Potter spending their time between classes wandering about up there. The door to what they would always think of as "Fluffy's Room" was still open. There were no sounds coming from the room, and a quick check showed it was empty except for a few things scattered about the floor.

Hermione's book bag was lying open, with a non-textbook half out. There was a folded up blanket, a piece of parchment and self-inking quill nearby, and an empty (standard model) potions bottle lying near the blanket. Harry and Ron looked at each other and stepped inside, closing the door behind them. Solitary potions taking, having to leave notes for someone to come fetch you if you don't show up for hours, it didn't sound like Hermione was as much of a straight arrow as they had thought. Still, they would clean up after her, and later get on her case (hard!) to clean up her act.

Ron looked around carefully. There was no sign of a monkey (or apes the case might be), and the windows in the room were locked from the inside. Of course, the door had been open when they got there, it might have escaped that way. Except Hermione had certainly said the monkey had climbed up into the sky, and the windows… Still, he wanted to give her every benefit of the doubt he could, it was _Hermione._

Harry went over to the book bag, looking at the item half out of it. **The True Arte of Foretelling (for all the good it will do you) by Unis Vacumnos. **Ah, things were starting to make sense now. There were paper slips stuck in to the book at a dozen different places, Harry opened a few at random and glanced at the pages. Ron came over, and Harry handed the book to him. Ron shook his head in disbelief.

"I mean, Divination!"

"Well, Ron, from the results you have to admit Hermione does a better job of it than Trelawney."

"That's a low standard, Harry. But yes. It seems Hermione actually does know how to do the job. I guess that monkeys that talk to you in visions are a lot more useful than seeing something that might look like a Grim in the bottom of a teacup. But, cleverest witch of our class? She should have had one of us with her, in case she needed help!"

Harry agreed, in general, and added, "When we get back to the dorm we can check out her guidebook a bit. We might have been distractions to her, if we had been there, always going over and checking if she was breathing right and adjusting her blankets. Let's just pick up everything now, and tell her she's an idiot when she gets out of the Infirmary."

"How's Hagrid going to deal with Nev's rescue though? After all, Sinistra was Slytherin, back in the day." Ron asked.

"Oh, probably how I'd handle it: never bring it up at all. Life's simpler that way."

After making sure that no incriminating evidence was left; after all, Hermione had been out after curfew, probably had stolen (from the chain attachment on the book) something from the Library, and had been engaged in Unauthorized Personal Consumption of Unlicensed Potions. They left to store her things at the dorm, and ran to get to class in time. On the way they passed Krum walking hand-in-hand with a fiery, flushed, Miss Bones of Hufflepuff; he had seemingly settled on her for some reason. Perhaps he was tired of Quidditch groupies. Certainly there had been enough subtle (and many obvious) offers presented to the famous young man, but he seemed to prefer the quiet one in the end.

After classes, dinner, and the rest of the day's training, Ron and Harry cleared out their remaining roommates and settled in to figure out what Miss Granger had been doing. They had tried, and failed, to get in to visit their friend. Harry had finally just sent a message by owl to Hermione: Hedwig seemed to have infinite guile about getting into places. Until they got her return message they had only the physical evidence to work with. Harry read the marked passages in the book, while Ron looked through her pages of notes. After a bit they exchanged their materials and started again.

"She shouldn't have done it, Ron. Too bloody dangerous start to finish. Lose your todays while drowning in endless possibilities. She had no right to risk herself!"

Ron put down the notes and disagreed with Harry.

"Be reasonable. First, she saved a good mate. Second, it seems likely she put a spoke in one of You-Know-Who's wheels. Third, why do you think a witch as bright as her got put in Gryffindor? Because she was going to cautiously test things, step by step? She obeys rules because she's orderly and polite, but timid isn't where she comes from."

"She should have told us what she was doing. There are other methods she could have used. They might not have been as certain, but they sound less risky."

At that point Dean Thomas stuck his head back into the room and delivered a message: "Luna 's downstairs and says that Ron and her still have time for a nice walk, if he's interested."

Ron smiled and got to his feet. Harry called out as he left the room, "Let her know what's up, Ron. And ask if we can get together tomorrow for a general talk." Harry knew enough not to get between Ron and his Luna.

With Ron gone Harry got his stuff together to do his assignments. Or more accurately, to brood. He knew that he had no right to boss Hermione around. Looking at things calmly Ron had been right, Harry even knew that he would have done much the same as Hermione if he had been clever enough to put together all the pieces needed. But Hermione didn't have any right to risk herself that way. He didn't know if it was misplaced gallantry, or sexism, or whatever. But she shouldn't run into danger like that, even if she thought there was a problem with time. Just because _he_ would have… well, he knew he could be an idiot, there was no reason she should be one too. And then, when they had been down there, she had acted so cheerful and strong, even though she hadn't healed yet. If she wasn't released from the Infirmary by tomorrow he was going to get in to see her, one way or the other.

Neville had been getting an earful of instructions from Headmaster Dumbledore when Augusta Longbottom burst into the Infirmary past a protesting Pomfrey. Hermione had been temporarily moved into an attached solarium, allowing the Headmaster to have unrestricted access to the boy, and complete deniability if things went wrong. He had been sure that Augusta wouldn't be able to clear her schedule until Wednesday at least. Being childless himself he had an inaccurate idea of how quickly a loving grandparent could clear up their schedule to visit an injured grandchild. Two hours from first message to blowing the doors off the hinges. It would have been far shorter if she had been allowed to floo directly into Hogwarts, instead of having to find a place in Hogsmead to go through, and then walking the long way up to the school.

Neville was gingerly sitting up in bed when she entered; his attempts earlier in the day to stand up had led to vertigo. The sight of his smile when she came in through the doors warmed her, the way Dumbledore tried to deflect her from talking with her grandson, which made her… less happy.

"Augusta, the boy is still quite faint and dizzy, in a few days or a week he'll be able to tell you a coherent story. Until then nothing he says will really clarify matters. 'Till then I'll be happy to send you regular updates on his condition. You don't want to overtax him, do you? No reason to force his tired body to go beyond its limits."

"Grandma, I was attacked by…" Neville's voice slowly became an incoherent mumble.

"You see Augusta, just fevered dreams, he's having fevered dreams. Let him rest a bit, and we can go to lunch and discuss things. You know, I think that this year we might be able to see our way to getting a replacement for Binns! Isn't that wonderful!"

If Mrs. Longbottom hadn't seen the subtle wandless spell casting Dumbledore had done to cause Neville to stop talking all this would have been far more effective. However, challenging him here, in the School itself, and without any preparations was not advisable. Neville was getting proper medical attention she could see, and for the rest she would have to play it by ear for a while. She smiled to Dumbledore, went over and kissed Neville's forehead. She could see him straining to say something, and she put her forefinger over his lips. "Rest now dear. Grandmamma will stay in touch, and do everything she can for you." The she went over to the Headmaster, hooked her arm in his and said, "Yes lunch would be nice, Albus. It will help me to calm down. Neville dear, I'll check in on you daily, of course."

Accordingly, they went to the Great Hall, up to the dais where the Staff and important guests were served. There they had their luncheon while the students came in in small groups and sat at their respective tables, with just a bit of visiting from one house to another. As she ate Augusta noticed the delightful Miss Lovegood (the pieces she had done on how Mrs. Longbottom had organized and run the Rosmerta-Black wedding had been _most _complimentary) talking to an exquisite-looking South Asian girl at their common Ravenclaw table. That young lady, a few moments later, got up and went over to the Gryffindor table to a young woman that looked exactly like her! Dumbledore noticed Augusta's interest and commented: "The Patil sisters. Identical, but one in Gryffindor and one in Ravenclaw. A lesson to us in that, somehow. Not British , of course, but their family has been magical for at least a thousand years. They've assimilated quite well and are both flourishing in their respective Houses."

"Well, you know it's never too soon to start looking for a daughter-in-law. They look like it might be useful to find if they are fully suitable, if things as currently arranged for my Neville fall through."

Dumbledore filed that away for future consideration. He hadn't known that the Longbottom boy had any potential engagements set up yet. It was of things like this the social and political web of Magical life was made. Plus, if Augusta was engaged in a bit of matchmaking it would distract her from interfering with certain acts he planned to do that were, perhaps, best left unexamined.

When the meal was finished Dumbledore led her out, toward the Headmaster's Office and the floo connection there. Before they could quite leave the Hall one of the twins rushed up to Augusta, grasped her hands, and blurted out: "Mrs. Longbottom, I'm Parvati, one of Nev's classmates. We're all so worried about him, he's grown on us so! Our best wishes, really!" and then rushed off.

Dumbledore gave her a final reassurance before she flooed out: "As you can see Neville has loads of friends here; they'd exhaust him completely if we let them all visit. It's sweet of them, of course, but for his own good he will need lots of isolation and rest. Don't worry, I've asked the Centaurs to look for our intruder, no one knows the Forest he fled to like them!"

Once home Augusta immediately sent a floo call to the Three Broomsticks, and on receiving confirmation that all was clear, flooed there herself. After having had both Black and Rosmerta check her for any unwanted spells she opened up the note Parvati Patil had passed to her as she was leaving the Great Hall. She had known who the girls were from the moment she had seen them, as they had been part of the undercover communications network last year, along with Neville.

The note itself was short:

_N. hurt by agent Y-K-W. Granger, Potter, Ronald W., L.L. know all the story so far._

_ 10:30 PM tonight. Will meet, tell. _

At 10:33 PM that evening Sirius Black gave the all clear, and motioned Luna Lovegood into the Three Broomsticks through a back door. She was quickly ushered into a heavily warded room, and then checked for any spells or artifacts on her. Then she sat down on the bed of the room, motioning to Black and Rosmerta to stay with her and Longbottom. They sat down around a table, with a pot of tea and some cups on it.

"You know who I am. I'm only a mooncalf when it's fun, or a mask to hide behind. I don't wear a mask now. Potter and Weasley snuck in the first day after. They talked to Hermione and Nev. Since then, it's been impossible to get anything out, though we think we have gotten a message in.

"Sorry, Mrs. Longbottom, we have to start with Hermione. She found a Divination method that actually works. In a way, and it's dangerous. She was given a riddle that said that a gardener was bleeding in a place with crystal walls. She figured it must mean Neville was in danger, and also figured out where he was. She got there in time to interrupt things, got very badly hurt doing that too, but called loud enough she attracted the attention of the Staff to help. Thank Ms. Sinistra for saving them both.

"Neville had been working late, he has permission to do that, sort of the star of Herbology. While he was repotting something he was knocked out. He came to hanging by his feet, bound, and having his blood drained. By a man who said he was Barty Crouch, Jr. Note that we don't know yet if he was, just that he said that. The man said that Him sent… I mean Voldemort sent him to get the blood for something. He'd wanted to get Potter's, but Harry was always with someone, and Nev's blood was the closest match otherwise. Besides, the man… I'll call him Crouch for convenience sake… said that he wanted to finish the job he had started before he was sent to prison. He went off to look for something, that's when Hermione came in. He got a shot at her back, and hit her, but she didn't stay down and got an alert out. That's what brought the staff."

This was not the dreamy and fantasizing girl familiar to most of the students of Hogwarts. It wasn't even the attentive and cheerful journalist Augusta remembered from the wedding. To Sirius it was like a skilled Auror giving an after action report. She continued.

"That's all the boys got before they were kicked out of the Infirmary. They managed to get evidence about Hermione's vision, her notes on how to get it. The greenhouse had been cleaned up, mostly, by the time they got there. Plants and pots in good shape, all the blood that spilled on the floor gone. They found a capped bottle, rolled under some undamaged benches and got overlooked. We think it's Neville's blood." At that point Lovegood reached into her robe and pulled out a bottle, and handed it to Mrs. Longbottom. "The stuff about Vold- that was Neville's, and the stuff about Crouch. The stuff about Divination, that's from Hermione, we have her notes and the book she had lifted out of the Library that had the techniques. You may not want to use them yourself, lots of warnings about going loony," she giggled at that, "if you try to do things too hard or too often. It looks, from the cleanup and lack of Aurors we've seen, that this is being treated as a purely internal matter. Attempted murder times two with the attacker still on the loose is an _internal matter_."

Luna got up and poured herself a cup of tea. She sipped at it as Julia began to cast old, Blood Magic spells onto the opened bottle. Augusta took out her Athame and cut herself, to give a matching type of blood. The results were unmistakable. The two bloods were closely related, definitely from the same family. The bottle itself had a preservative spell on it, to keep its contents fresh and fluid.

For a few minutes they discussed what sort of spells or potions would need stolen blood as a component. Finally, Luna left; she had a heavy day of classes the next day, and Ronald would be fretting until she was back. Afterwards it was decided that Augusta would try to visit Neville the next day, bringing him some magazines and the like to keep him from getting bored while confined to bed. Perhaps hint that she wouldn't mind taking him home for a rest there. Both Sirius and Julia put as many protective spells against mind control as they could think of on her; no reason to take chances.

The next day Augusta was let into the school through McGonagall's floo connection, and brought right down to see her grandson. Granger's bed had been slept in, but she was absent again. Neville himself was very vague and confused about the things of the last few days, and still very weak. Pomfrey was extremely agreeable to the suggestion that it might do Neville good to spend a few days at home, in a familiar environment. From there on things went so smoothly that Augusta knew that this had been set up in advance.

Almost before Neville had been settled in to his bedroom back home Augusta received a floo call from St. Mungos. Adelbert Wilcox, a mind healer there, said that he had been forwarded Neville's files, and would be happy to come over and begin therapy at any time. Augusta promised to consider it, and quickly closed the connection. After some thought she gave a call to her brother Algie, a busy man who still promised to come over that evening and talk with his big sister. While she was waiting she ransacked the Longbottom Manor library for medical and mental arts books.

Algie's examination of Neville was… confusing. His magic was fine, though he was too weak to use it well. His mental state was… odd. It wasn't quite a suggestion, more of a hint, that there had recently been something done to him. Nothing that could be proved, nothing that could hold up in a court (especially one where the chief was the primary suspect) under examination. Neville's confusion might just be due to the blood loss and the mental trauma, or the result of artistic memory removal. He certainly no longer remembered anyone calling themselves Barty Crouch Jr. being at Hogwarts. All that was left was that he had been attacked, had been dizzy, and couldn't remember anything more.

Algie's connections in the Ministry had not informed him of anything going on in regard to the Aurors and Hogwarts. They both agreed that directly going after Dumbledore would lead nowhere, and might even threaten her guardianship of Neville.

Augusta got right to the point.

"I'm not letting that bastard get his hands on Neville again. I'll teach him at home if need be, over the summer I've seen how good he's gotten, he was just a slow starter after all."

"Now Gussy, don't think small on this. I agree that it would be best not to place any hostages in Albus' hands, but we must remember that there may be an active Death Eater out there, hunting Neville. Now didn't people who had a bit of a collapse, back when we were young, go on long overseas voyages?"

"Mostly young women with a nine month illness, but I take your drift. I have an authorized copy of Neville's grades, he hasn't taken his OWLS yet, so he really won't have to leave a paper trail if he goes to another school, if it's the right one. Perhaps it's the right time to take a visit and look over Mother's old Alma Mater."

"Give me the names of a few of his friends; they seem to be unusually effective and loyal young folk. It would be worthwhile to keep in touch with them, I think. And I could make sure they keep in touch with him."


	42. Chapter 42

I do not own, or receive any benefit, from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 42-Briarpatch

The departure of Augusta Longbottom and her grandson Neville on a long trip to rebuild his health, shattered by the villainous assault in Greenhouse Five at Hogwarts, affected different people in different ways.

Tom Riddle was completely indifferent; he had what he wanted from the boy. Behind the incantation and embodiment ceremony had been a complex structure of conditions; the youth of the donor had been one of them. Longbottom had proven to be enough of an enemy for the potion to work in giving him a stable body. That put things into a better perspective; in the long run Potter was just another boy, an obstacle perhaps, but nothing all that special. There would be plenty of time to deal with him in the future. In fact, some amusing possibilities were soon to present themselves.

Barty Crouch Jr. was deeply disappointed; he so wanted to finish the job. Imprisoned in Azkaban, living on the quiet, he had been denying himself the sweetest pleasures for so long, and now even a simple murder would have to be put off until the target came back into range. Sometimes life was so unfair. At least he had been allowed to contribute his pound of flesh for the incarnation, and was acting as majordomo as the Master pulled together those parts of his organization still roaming free.

Draco Malfoy hardly noticed. Longbottom had been less and less fun to play with each year. As Neville's strength and confidence had grown it had become harder and harder to abuse him safely. When he had become one of the Potter clique he became basically not available at all. After all: out of sight, out of mind.

Lucius Malfoy found it annoying; Augusta had given her Power of Representation to her younger brother. Now Lucius had that eccentric old bat to deal with on the various Boards and committees he and she had often sat on. While she was frequently a pain in the arse, she was someone he could work with, on occasion. Algie was close to impossible! And now the Dread Lord was back, and all Lucius' lovely schemes and plans would have to be put on hold until victory had been achieved.

Albus Dumbledore took it philosophically; while all the fine polishing and advanced camouflage he had arranged to perfectly conceal his little bit of mind meddling would have to be foregone, time itself would do most of the work as long as Neville wasn't going to places that would stimulate the affected memories. Certainly the boy had looked poorly, and having Augusta out of the country would be relief. She was, in a figure of speech, a pain in the arse. Though she could be worked with on occasions, for something serious. Algie… well, Algie gave eccentricity a bad name.

The Potter Clique missed him deeply. A few days after he disappeared, instructions on how to care for the Gillyweed had come by Owl Post, and a short personal note from Neville (in a very shaky hand) that he would try to write from time to time and to treat it like an Annette (sorry Harry!) letter. They had packed up his things and sent them to his Granduncle Algie. Who impressed them as being crazy like a fox. Their confidence in this was reinforced when the first letter from Nev came, by the expected secret process, three weeks later. That one had been reassuring; the one that came shortly after Harry had survived the "Underwater Hostage Retrieval and Homicidal Grindylow Obstacle Course Event" was even more interesting.

Neville Longbottom found the entire experience confusing and enlightening. The trip to France by normal wizarding means was all done in a haze; he was still heavily affected by the attack, and whatever else might have been done to him. Being snuck back into Britain by the Chunnel, while under deep disguise was interesting, in a hallucinatory sort of way. It was only while enjoying the trip across the Atlantic in a luxury suite on the _Queen Elizabeth 2 _did Neville really come fully back to his senses.

The sheer difference between life on the huge luxury ship and the conventional (for a wizard) life that he had always lived before woke him up in a way that he couldn't have predicted. He walked every day around the deck several times. He took swimming lessons. He talked with people at table that had no idea what wizarding topics of conversation were, and the nightly entertainments were smart, silly and just what he needed to break out of his mental fog. Seeing his grandmother take on a whole new personality was therapy in itself. She didn't feel she had to dress or act as the utterly respectable widow and social lioness she did back home, and if she wasn't actually flirting and making a fool of herself, she certainly was having fun for the first time that Neville could remember.

The trip from the docks in New York to the house that had been rented while on the ship was even better adventure than the letters he had helped smuggle to Harry last year. Disguises, false names, changing disguises in rail station rest rooms, renting several taxis to various obscure destinations. Finally a bus trip (uncomfortable), and a two mile walk to the 1,200 sq ft Cape Cod style house on Barstow Street in historic Salem, Massachusetts. If they had taken the train directly to the Salem station the walk to their newly rented home would have been about a third of a mile, but where would the intrigue be in that?

In the week before Neville started as a late term day student at the Salem Witches Academy (known as Salem Academy to the unsuspecting Muggles of Massachusetts, and during which he discovered that in America that term was used to describe the magically gifted of all genders), Neville and Grandma Augusta set up a whole life, and whole new identities. Grandma was now Aurelia Langston, and her grandson was Neil Langston. They studied maps of the area, including buses and local trains. Neville bought a bicycle (what he had heard about them from the Muggle-born students at Hogwarts had made one seem to be a reasonable alternative to brooms), and never told his grandmother of a series of near-death experiences he had learning how to ride one while crossing busy streets.

Perhaps the most interesting discovery Neville made was in an old, second hand book store in town. A copy of the **How to Hide from Your Enemies by F.Z.** (1974 edition, Knight Templar Press) was of natural interest to him, and buying it with local currency gave him experience dealing with locals. Also at $2.25 (3 sickles, 23 Knuts) it was a steal. A thorough reading of its 157 pages inspired him to make notes of the twenty two major mistakes that they had made in their Great Escape. He felt that you never know when you'll need that type of information. After learning of his reading it Grandma wasn't sure if she should be proud of his foresight in insisting that they each have a "bug-out bag" already packed with a supply of local money included, and two alternate escape routes and rendezvous points. Or if she should worry that he was a bit round the bend.

At school the classes were similar to those he was used to, but hardly identical. History was merely dull, not soporific. Potions was actually bearable, while Biology (a combination of Herbology and Care of Magical creatures) was positively delightful. Shooting to the top of class in the first few weeks probably helped him acquire that opinion. The other courses seemed much the same, even using some of the same textbooks. The social side of things in Salem was a bit different.

Both on the Muggle side and the Magical one … girls dug British accents. Back home he had only recently gotten over being terminally shy, and even a bit timid. Here he was getting so many offers to help him "catch-up" from young witches that he finally understood why Harry was very wary of the occasional tidal waves of popularity that came his way. There had to be a lingering suspicion that something so sudden and based on superficial qualities was also something that was not, in the final accounting, long lasting and sincere. Though he did enjoy the attention.

By the third week of classes a goodly number of the fair-weather-flirters had gone on to their next fad. A few girls were still being especially friendly; he made sure to give them similar treatment. Though there was no one (male or female) that he had bonded with like his Gryffindor mates, he had asked a few over to visit (even resident students were allowed off campus during weekends) and he had found that fourteen and fifteen year olds on both sides of the Pond were equally cynical, naïve, generous, petty, and basically interesting.

Once every week to ten days a letter came from Uncle Algie, usually with an inclusion from Hogwarts. Nothing very startling; he knew that if something dramatic happened he'd have to read between the lines to figure out what had occurred. He sent back what he hoped were informative letters, but with all the details that would pinpoint his current location concealed.

On the Friday after Valentine's Day (he had given out three Valentines, and gotten six), as he was wheeling down the street to get home, a Firstie ran past him, a slender black girl with an overnight bag strapped over her shoulder. She started yelling out, "Aaron! Aaron!" and about fifty yards up ahead a pale, freckled boy of about her own age piled out of an auto, closely followed by a large black pup, and picked her up in a hug and swung her around several times. They got back into rear seat of the car (the dog only reluctantly) and drove past Neville. In the front seat, facing and talking to the woman driving, was Annette Hahn.

By the time Neville had his bike turned around and moving at any speed they were gone. He went through a little checklist in his head: 1) Was that really Annette? It certainly looked like her. 2) Hadn't she mentioned having a younger brother, maybe named Aaron? He seemed to recall so, but right now personal memories weren't really his strong suit. 3) Wasn't her home a few thousand miles west of here? Perhaps not; he had picked up enough from his friends, and her letters, that he knew that she had started going to a special school, something very brainy. You couldn't throw a stone around here without hitting some sort of elite educational establishment. The conclusion he reached was irrefutable: he wouldn't know until the weekend was over and he could locate the Salem student.

It took him over a week to run her down. The greatest obstacles were that his own classes kept him from a full time search, and architecture. Salem had a dispersed building plan, with separate structures for dorms, classrooms and several special purposes. It wasn't some monolithic building that you could move around in easily and check out central junctions between classes. It also had a number of eating locations, so no scanning the Great Hall at lunch. Not being able to recruit some trusted assistants slowed things down also. The people he knew here were nice enough, but could he really trust them? He wondered if Grandma was right; had he gone a bit around the bend? According to her creative weirdness was something of a trait of her side of the family.

Finally, after going to the school offices and working out schedules and current assignments (the Longbottom Charm was fully effective with middle aged witches doing clerical work), Neville was spending his second day of staying late after school waiting outside the Library, where he figured the First Year students would have to come to work on their Biology assignments on lunar influences on plant growth and properties. This proved to be his lucky day. She was coming his way, chattering with a half dozen of her classmates. He followed the gaggle of girls in, and waited until they had dispersed to round up books and maps, and then approached his quarry.

"I wonder if you could tell me what kind of dog it is, that Aaron has. It looked like a type I might like. Oh, sorry, where are my manners? I'm Neil Langston."

She recognized the boy; there had been enough gossip about him that even her beginning class knew that he was an expert in Bio. Starting a conversation in public, where everyone could see them, meant that he wasn't any kind of a stalker (her parents had warned her about them years ago), and anyway there was something she wanted to check. No, no matter how hard she looked she couldn't see a scar on his forehead, so he wasn't that Harry Potter person Liz had been so broken up about.

"Hi, I'm Tina Martin." There was a slight southern note to her speech: "First Year here. Aaron, he's got a Lab: a Labrador. And it's just the sweetest thing, though it eats a lot they say, so if you want to keep one you better have lots a time to help them run it off or they get fat. Oh, and they swim with web feet." She nodded her head. Yes, that was the essential information about Aaron's dog, after all Lou-Ann and she had gone with Liz and Leo to pick it up for Aaron's early birthday gift.

"It looked like Aaron was pretty friendly with you, just like his pup is. I guess you're pretty close. I kind of envy that, just moved here a few months ago, had to leave all my friends back home. And family. There's nothing like missing your family." That was true for Neville. He even missed Great Uncle Algie, who had come close to killing or maiming (with love in his heart) Neville a dozen times or more before his magic came in.

"Yeah, I miss my folks too, the Greens try to help, and they do! But it isn't the same. Though Lou-Ann says they're gonna be family someday anyway, 'cause she and Aaron are going to marry and we'll all be in-laws. But she's just a kid." She laughed at that; Lou-Ann and she got along better, now that they saw each other less often. Still, a nine year old and an eight were being very optimistic if they were already planning to get hitched.

"Still, you're lucky to have a sort of second family here. I saw how happy they all were to see you the other day. That girl in the front seat, she was Aaron's sister, right?"

Now Tina could see what this was all about; Langston was cute, but definitely too old for her. He wasn't some creepy guy stalking her, he was interested in Liz Green! After all the nice things the Greens had done for her family it would be nice to do something for them. After all, the MIT place Liz was going to seemed to be full of funny stories, but not many romantic guys her age.

"How about you give me your phone number… no, that won't work. Give me your dorm number and I'll let Liz know she's got an _admirer._"

They compromised on his mailing address and a promise that she'd pass things on. By then her friends had gotten back and Neville beat a hasty retreat, not wanting to be in the midst of, and questioned by, seven preteen romantics. Also, if he had continued with his interrogation the Martin girl might have been pushed from being cooperative to wondering why he was so insistent.

After a week he received a printer-written letter, with instructions to go to a certain trail , Keyes Loop, in Great Brooks Farm State Park that weekend. Checking a map he found the place, about 19 or so miles away. A bit too far for a morning's bike trip in his current condition, but with getting the train to nearby Billerica (4 miles away from the park) it was a less than half-hour trip by bike. No need to inform Grandmother; if it all turned out to be a bust he felt it was best as a quiet one.

Tina had naturally enough contacted Aaron Green; he was the one she was around most when she visited the Greens, Liz being away doing things at school usually, and Mrs. Green being a nice, but nosey, grownup. He had given his sister a call, and without telling her exactly what had inspired the call quizzed her about all the swell people she had met at school, and on her big trip to Britain. One thing he knew now, for sure, was that she hadn't met anyone named Neil Langston in England, or anywhere, in her life. Aaron went to Great Brooks often, and he knew the place like the back of his hand. He had worded the letter he had sent Langston very precisely. If Leo had been in country Aaron would have called him. But as things were, he felt he could handle a student wizard by himself if he had to. He had his Friends, and Leo's sharp gift.


	43. Chapter 43

I do not own, or receive any benefit, from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 43-Friends

One Saturday morning in early April Neville Longbottom wheeled his bicycle onto the train for his trip to Billerica Station, nearest stop to Great Brooks Farm State Park, the weather was New England Spring normal. That is: rain, followed by clearing, followed by overcast, followed by clearing, and followed by rain. Rinse and repeat every half hour. His garden was doing nicely, the aconite was growing well, the belladonna was flourishing, and at least a dozen other magical herbs were sprouting up like assorted hallucinogenic, poisonous and otherwise dangerous weeds. He even had a tub (the soil wasn't right for it otherwise) of over-soaked soil for some Gillyweed, for sentimental reasons. When things warmed up a bit he'd put in some flowers and vegetables.

As he rode the train, and biked to the park, Neville spent a lot of energy seconded guessing himself. He really should have checked into things further before doing this. There had been time; he could have questioned Tina Martin a bit more about Liz Green, it hadn't been hard to put things she had said together after all. There had been time to ask about her big brother also; according to Harry, Otto could be quite scary if he wanted to be. No, like a typical Gryff, he had gone off half-cocked on a dubious quest. Actually, that made it seem kind of fun. He had often wondered how timid Nev had gotten into the House of the brave and rash. Here he was finally seeing a good example. Of course, not being a complete fool either he had an unregistered wand, one he could use without showing up as an under-aged user. Uncle Algie had slipped it to him as Grandma and he had been getting on their ship.

After consulting the map at the entrance to the park he managed to find the trail he needed. It was a branch off of the path that led to a dead end, with a bit of marsh land surrounded by trees. This early in the season, and with the weather still so unstable, he didn't see anyone else as he pushed his bike down the half washed-out walking path. He soon realized he should have just left it at the bike racks at the entrance. Finally, down at the bottom of the loop in as isolated a spot as you could find in a thousand acres of parkland, he saw a boy and his dog.

Neville propped his bike up against a tree and walked towards them. The boy whispered something into the dog's ear, and it ran off into the woods. At about twenty feet off Neville started to speak, his voice a little more rapid and high pitched than he had intended it to be. He had just noticed that the branches of the trees on either side of the trail were practically creaking with the weight of flocks of large, silently sitting crows, all watching him closely. He nonchalantly put his hand into the pocket of his rain-proofed nylon jacket, the fingers curling around his untraceable wand.

"Hello, I'm Neil Langston; I think I'm an old friend of your sister Annette from England-" Oh, that was wrong; here she was using the name Liz. He tried to get started again.

"She doesn't know anyone named Neil! What do you want with my sister?" The boy advanced a step or two, from somewhere a baseball bat flew into his hand. He wasn't an exceptionally large boy, but he moved with very athletic spring to his step, and one mustn't forget he had a three foot long club in his hands. Neville drew the wand, but kept it pointed off to the side. He wasn't very happy to see that some of the crows seemed to be tilting themselves forward, as if they were about dive.

"Let's not let this thing get off on the wrong foot here, right? She's Liz? And we met at... the Longbottom Manor House?" This wasn't sounding right at all; he wasn't even convincing himself, and he _knew _it was the truth. How could this meeting go any worse?

Onyx was a very smart puppy, but at only nine months old she really couldn't be blamed for not completely understanding some of Aaron's instructions. He had told her to fetch some of the deer that lived nearby; well, she had done that. It wouldn't be fair to hold her responsible for them getting too excited and going into full stampede, she was a retriever after all, not a herder! That Aaron had wanted them nearby to run down the wizard if he tried to fight, was just a little beyond her current ability to understand humans, and immensely beyond what the deer could have understood on their best day.

Behind him Neville thought he heard a massive pounding of hooves: "Bloody hell, now here comes the cavalry. Not mine though!" Diving to the side of the path he managed to almost completely avoid being trampled. Only one doe managed to knock him down and run up his spine with her sharp hooves. Of course, that was when the crows, opportunistic as always, saw their chance to start dive bombing him.

When the birds began their assault on the wizard Aaron let out a groan. It wasn't supposed to be happening like this. He was going to intimidate the other, get some sort of a confession out of him, and a promise not to annoy anyone in the family ever again. Now Aaron realized that he was to blame for things falling apart; the wizard might have been a lying B-word, but he hadn't tried anything nasty. It was all Aaron's Friends who had started the violence, it was his fault! He reached out with his mind and told as many of the crows as he could reach to fly away, since the deer were already past the end of the trail and into the woods.

The number of impacts on Neville's head seemed to have decreased; he realized that if he was to do any better here than he had back in the greenhouse at Hogwarts he'd better take the lull as an opportunity to take out some of his attackers. He rolled to the side, swiped his left hand in front of his face to knock back any birds aiming for his eyes, and began to cast Depulso, the Banishing Charm, at any hurtling black form in the air. Those hit, and the rest of their flock took this as a sign it was time to reassess the situation and made off to perch on a tree fifty yards or so away. Neville vaguely heard his attacker (he had no doubt about that) saying something. With the blood pounding so loudly in his ears Neville couldn't tell exactly what, and was in no mood to wait around for the next assault. Pivoting around he cast Petrificus Totalus, the Full Body Bind Curse, at the boy.

Aaron was running toward the boy laying in the path when the wizard suddenly rolled to the side and began to throw spell after spell hitting crows and throwing them yards back into the air. At least none of them seemed to be hurt. This was a disaster; sure, Liz would forgive him, and Leo would understand and use it to teach a lesson. But Lou-Ann would be disappointed in him, for being a bully, for being like his father. Aaron couldn't stand that.

"Go away! Go away from him!" His flying Friends, startled by the sudden forces shoving them backwards and the mental messages of the psi user, backed off and gathered on a nearby tree. Suddenly the wizard turned and Aaron felt all his limbs go straight and rigid. He fell heavily to the ground.

Neville's mind finally caught up to events, and he realized what the boy had been saying. The kid had been releasing the spell that had controlled the birds; evidently they had been only meant to distract him, not to do damage. He stood up, and suddenly felt his right ankle gripped softly but firmly.

Onyx had no idea what to do. Labs were notoriously useless as guard dogs; they were just too gentle natured. But Aaron was obviously in trouble, she had to do _something_! Grabbing the other person's leg was the best she could figure out. And she wouldn't let go, she was a good dog!

Neville looked down at the beast attacking his leg; oddly enough he could barely feel its teeth, certainly the thing couldn't be trying to damage him. The paws were huge compared to the body. Right, obviously it was a puppy. He gingerly reached down and patted its head, and the tail gently wagged, though his ankle stayed in the dog's grip. He looked carefully at the spell bound boy; he was no more than nine or ten years old. Neville Longbottom, of the famous Longbottoms, had almost been defeated by a boy and his dog, two young pups. Somebody had better get serious about learning some dangerous spells. Well, perhaps what was needed was more a matter of attitude. After all, the spells he knew had been enough for the job once he got his mind in place to use them. That was really where the problem was; his friends always told him that, and here it was proved again. He needed to learn how to think like a fighter, like someone who was serious about surviving.

Neville cast Mobilicorpus on the boy, who floated toward him. While still in mid air, his arms and then his legs suddenly broke free of the binding. Neville lost his concentration and dropped him to the ground. Before another spell could be cast the boy had dodged into the woods.

"Let go, Onyx!" was yelled from somewhere off to the left, and the dog opened her mouth and trotted off into the woods in that direction.

"The little bugger is quick enough," Neville thought to himself. He wondered if he'd have to pick up the fight again, and whether the boy had any bears or wolves around as more backup. Going off the path after someone that quick didn't appeal to him as an effective tactic. He reached up and wiped at something trickling down his cheek. His hand came back stained red. Evidently the birds had managed to get a few good hits in on him.

From the woods the voice rang out again, "I'm going to surrender now, but only because I did wrong, not because you beat me or anything. And I'm not going to tell you anything about my sister. And if you ever try to hurt her Brother will take you apart, so don't you try!"

Aaron tucked the chain with the Hydra's fang Leo had given him (Liz had another) back into his shirt. He didn't have much Teek, but it had been enough to drag it out and put the sharp point against where it felt he was all tied up. Then he had used it like an awl to force open the binding. Leo had said that it had magic in it, and evidently it did. Sometimes you just have to take a chance. He walked back to the path, now that he had proved he _could have_ escaped if he had wanted to. It was time to face the music.

Neville saw the kid, followed by his dog (no wagging tail, she could tell he was depressed) come into view. He decided to use the minute or two before they got there to figure out a better way of telling why he had come. From the look of him, the boy was miserable, probably expecting something like a Death Eater's welcome. At least he would be spared that.

When the boy was four or so feet away he stopped, and jerked his hanging head up. Evidently he was ready to take whatever would be dished out. Close up Neville really couldn't see much of a family resemblance to the Hahns, or maybe it was the Greens. The boy was lighter complexioned, had green eyes to their brown, auburn hair to their dark brown, plus a different nose too. There was something about the set of his mouth that was like Annette's, a natural smile waiting there.

"That's 'cause I got a different father."

Where did that come from?

"My Dad, well, not my real dad because he killed him, told me that years ago. I mean Mom's husband, he told me, to make me feel alone. But I'm not, 'cause I've got family!" That was said fiercely.

Neville couldn't really process this statement immediately, and decided to just go with his pre-decided script.

"Let's start again, shall we? I'm calling myself Neil Langston because I'm on the run from some bad men. It's not really my name, but that doesn't mean I want to hurt anyone, understand?"

"Right, nom de guerre."

Well, that went better than the first time. Now how to explain that Neville Longbottom, late of Longbottom Manor, thought he had seen a girl called Annette Hahn in an auto a few weeks ago, and wanted to talk to her?

"You're Neville? Why didn't you say so! Liz likes you! Oh, oh, burned cover, sorry."

How was this kid doing this stuff? Sirius Black with his Men from Cathay? Neville tried to get a question out before it was answered.

"If Liz was using another name last summer please nod your head."

The Boy from Cathay bit his lips in an effort not to either speak or laugh, and nodded.

"Was your brother there, calling himself Otto?"

"He uses that name when he goes east. It's from our great grandpa. Or at least his and Liz's. We have the same Mom though."

Evidently the MFC had the same sort of genealogical setup as wizards; confused and often violent. Still, now things were clear enough; it had been… it had been "Liz" he had seen, Aaron was the little brother she had talked about, and the big brother-

"That's Leo."

There it was again. But now was not the time to get diverted; identities were all straightened out now, time to get the lines of communication set up.

"They're not home now, but you should come with me home. I mean you got those cuts and everything, and if you show up bleeding your grandma Aurelia… Augusta? Well, she'd probably get excited and stuff. Mom can fix you up, and you could maybe wash up and everything."

Roll with it; don't fight the rip tide of weirdness. It was finally going in the right direction. Let Aaron take him back to be cleaned up. Grandma would have a fit at how he must look right now. It would be nice to meet Mrs.-

"Green, though Mom got a divorce from her husband after, after-"

It will all sort out, Neville. No reason to get upset now. Mrs. Green must be a very nice woman, to have raised children like Liz and Aaron-

"And Leo, my big brother is great. He teaches me all sort of important stuff, like baseball and swimming, and… stuff."

Neville could tell an awful lot wasn't being said, and probably an awful lot that Aaron shouldn't be saying was coming out. Perhaps a slight warning was needed?

"Yes, Aaron, I know he likes to help people. Perhaps you might be a little more… selective in answering people who ask questions though. You can't tell if they're really your friends or not all the time, after all."

"I can, really. It's a Talent."

Author's Note:

In this AU, the teeth of the Hydra are naturally imbued with the magic of the beast. Driven down into the enclosing fabric of the spell, which holds its victim under tension, it pierces and starts a "run" in magic, that quickly causes the whole thing to pop open, like a cut rubber band.


	44. Chapter 44

I do not own, or receive any benefit, from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 44- Family

As they were leaving the scene of their meeting, conflict, and reconciliation Aaron turned back towards the trees and yelled out at the top of his lungs, "Thank you very much for helping me! I'll be back tomorrow with some corn!" Aaron turned back to Neville and explained, "I've taken them away from foraging and this is a busy time of the year for them. Anyway, I always make sure to have a sack or two of feed corn in the garage. If you want a lot of Friends, you gotta give them snacks sometimes."

While Neville wasn't exactly sure who Aaron's "friends" were, he still nodded his head and followed the boy as he ran his way out of the park and onto the country roads toward his home. If Neville hadn't had a bicycle he wouldn't have kept up; the boy set a hard pace. They took a short break a few miles or so after starting to let the dog catch her breath, then went off at the same rapid pace. In another mile they had gotten back to Billerica, and turned onto a rural looking lane lined with two storied houses with large yards, front and back. As they turned into a driveway a particularly large and _alert _looking crow flew off of a branch and settled on Aaron's shoulder. It stayed there as they went around back to the kitchen door and into the house. Neville was told to make sure he wiped his feet on the mat.

He was introduced to Mrs. Anna Green as Neville ("But he's using Neil Langston outside.") Longbottom, Liz's friend. He wondered why there was no indication that Leo had any great regard for him, and then put that question down as just nerves. Mrs. Green gave him a piercing look, causing Aaron to burst out, "Mom, he's a guest! " which seemed to embarrass her. At that she scuttled off to get some medical supplies to take care of his several cuts and scratches. As Aaron put up some water and got cups for tea ("'Cause you're English and you like tea.") Neville figured out what had just happened. She had been going to do Legilimency on him, and Aaron had called her out on that. Aaron must be a Legilmancer also, despite his age. There were not many wizarding children that young who even knew what Legilimency was, and fewer still that would have stopped their parent from doing it on a stranger. Aaron hadn't been being bratty, he had been offended by a horrible breach of manners, one that he had expected his mother to understand and ultimately approve of. As a Longbottom, with a trifle over a millennium of family history and respectability behind him, Neville could appreciate the byplay. There weren't many in Britain, and as far as he could see even fewer in America, who would have done things quite that way.

Mrs. Green came back with cleaning wipes, ointments, and bandages ("Mom always has this type of stuff around, 'cause of all the scrapes I get.") and patched Neville up with practiced speed. He was fully repaired (even his clothing's minor rips were somehow seamlessly fixed while he was being bandaged) by the time the tea, toast, jams, and side fixings were put on the table by Aaron.

Over a light lunch (it had gotten to be that time), he and Mrs. Green traded small talk, with Aaron doing his best to avoid filling in too many details of the morning's altercation. It seemed that Aaron had never told his mother abut Neville's letter, or about setting up the meeting this morning, and wanted to skirt the actual amount of violence that had gone on earlier. Neville noticed the use of passive forms of speech: "So some deer ran him over, and some birds swooped around a lot." Not: "I had Onyx chase a herd of deer right up his back, and then I had a flock of blood-thirsty, corpse-eating birds attack him." Having had, from time to time, to make some embarrassing revelations to an elder relative Neville could appreciate the young boy's situation. No comment was made about Neville's use of a false name; evidently such things were considered normal usage and par for the course in the Green household. Both the dog and crow were hand fed, without a motherly protest, by Aaron at the table. Both animals had decent manners; Neville had seen far worse at Hogwarts at lunch time.

Afterwards, Neville was asked by Mrs. Green if he wanted to give his grandmother a call to let her know that he was alright. He declined, saying that they didn't have a telephone in their house in Salem. She went off saying that she would see if she could get hold of Liz. While she was away Aaron got a wide grin on his face and led Neville down into the basement.

"Liz said that you got an old family, back in England. Well I think we can top you, sorta. Couple years back we got this thing in the mail about how we could buy a copy of the Green family tree and coat of arms and everything. It was so totally bogus! If Grandpa hadn't changed it we'd be called Verde anyhow.

"Anyhow Leo said he could do a better job, and Liz dared him to, so he did. And here it is! The black lines are stuff for sure, the green lines are for maybe, and the red is for 'wouldn't it be fun.'"

Neville took the yard wide and man-long scroll from Aaron, and went to the latest entries. There, in black ink he could follow (reading charts like this was something all the old pure-blooded families were skilled at), were the legitimate and somewhat less so ancestors of his current host's family. Oddly enough, the particular branch of the family that Neville followed first was Elizabeth (Liz) Green's. That one, with the occasional confirmed bar sinister, led back to…Woden? He turned to look at Aaron, and pointed it out.

"Well, that's because Leo could trace things back to Augustus the Strong. I mean, he had like three-hundred eighty kids by his girlfriends so that isn't all that hard. And _his_ genealogy goes back to Charlemagne, and _his_ genealogy goes back to Woden, but look! All that stuff up there at the top of the chart is listed as Mythology!"

Another branch seemed to lead to Cyrus the Great, another someone called Levi four thousand years or so ago, and there was a more recent note for a Jose Arambula. The Levi line and Arambula one; one so long, the other recent, were both firmly in black. There was an Otto Hahn, with a line indicating irregularity in marital status, who had evidently dallied with a fair English maiden back in 1904, leading to his name being used by his descendents on occasion.

Neville then looked back down at the current part of the chart, to Aaron's lines on it. Aaron Green E-3, son of Anna Green ( Sassoon) E-2 and Herbert West E-2. Herbert West E-2 son of Arthur West E-1 and Elizabeth West ( Rosmerta). Small world after all, wasn't it?

As Mrs. Green called down to him that Liz was on the phone and would love to talk with him Neville made a mental note to see if the Rosmerta name he had just seen was allied to _the _Rosmertas. The name certainly wasn't common, even in Britain, but he didn't want to jump to any conclusions. Arthur and Elizabeth; right, got it.

After that he ran up the stairs and grabbed the telephone hand piece. Upside down of course; after a few moments of giggling confusion Neville had the thing in the proper place, and managed to speak into it without yelling. "Hello, it's-"

"Nev! I didn't know! Where are you staying? How long are you going to be in the States? What's this about you traveling incognito? Some angry dad with a shotgun hunting you? Don't worry, we'll give you refuge! I'm sorry I didn't write more, then I'd have known all this. I should let you talk, right?"

"Too much to say, why don't we get together, house in Salem at 18 Barstow street, one with the green shutters, Saturday next, come for lunch, stay for the conversation? Oh, and no angry fathers, but a man can hope, can't he?"

"Yes, 18 Barstow with shutters, Saturday at noon. Gotta go, playing with the Hubble, missed you!"

Short, sweet, and to the point. Grandmother had been very happy with his recent social life. His school friends coming over had been giving her an opportunity to be the gracious Lady Longbottom (well, "Langston") again. She would certainly want to catch up with the Annette (and would probably find Liz interesting too), who had been so helpful at the wedding. Without her usual committees and boards and official memberships, she had been at loose ends the last few months,. Having a co-worker from a recent and glorious social triumph could only make her feel less cut off from her usual life.

Before he went home that day Neville had to fend off several bouts of aggressive hospitality from Mrs. Green, as well as beg off having her drive him home after dinner. Having bought a round trip ticket he felt obligated to leave in time to catch the return to Salem Station. Otherwise, he wasn't sure that he'd have gotten home before Sunday evening.

Neville had noticed that the dog and bird were both un-naturally smart, and perceptive. Aaron's communication with them seemed a small step below that which Neville had seen between Dumbledore and Fawkes. The major difference he noticed was that Aaron could seemingly get the attention, and obedience, of almost anything he came across. Food for thought and contemplation.

Back in Salem, talking over the day (with a number of strategic omissions) with his grandmother Neville arranged for Liz's visit, and asked the question that had been bothering him for hours; was there a "lost" Rosmerta somewhere, who had wandered off and married a non-wizard?

"No scandal there, boy, the girl was merely a squib after all. Let me check my diary for that year… '68 I think."

She went to the desk, and pulled out her **Osgood's Perpetual Calendar, Almanac and Diary: self-updating and water resistant **from a drawer. Thumbing through it she called out, "Aha! Here it is, back in '68. If I may quote myself; 'Elizabeth, the Rosmerta Squib did the right thing this week, and married a Muggle named Arthur. She said that they will move away, and won't tell her husband, West, or her children about magic, unless they prove to have it. You can trust the Rosmerta, even a Squib of one, to act for the best.' Not a scandal, but still a bit of a tragedy; a Rosmerta Squib after all. What made you bring up this old bit of gossip now. How did you even know about it?"

"Over at the Green place I saw a humorous genealogy; don't look so shocked. Most of them, yes even the Longbottoms, you know that they have a large element of fantasy in them. Anyway, the parts that can be checked had an Arthur West marrying a Elizabeth Rosmerta. They have a grandson named Aaron Green. Maybe the fiction part of it starts earlier than I think, and it's just a bad joke. Just before we laugh, though, maybe we could do a check?"

Augusta mused, "If we get a blood or hair sample from the boy, we should be able to know in a week or so; Gringotts Boston Branch can do that sort of thing, identification of heirs and the like. I remember, back in '51 I think it was, they identified a false claimant to the estate of the Baghdadi Sassoons as a fraud. No more than a week, I think, it took." Augusta shut the diary with a brisk snap. She had a clear plan of action, an important part to play in the life of her grandson, and the roses were doing splendidly!

Author's Note:

Augustus the Strong of Saxony and Poland was known to have fathered between 350 and 385 children, one legitimate. Also one who was the greatest general of his age.

Jose Arambula was, at least reportedly, a very amorous fellow, believe what you wish.

Otto Hahn's involvement in hanky panky is completely fictitious. He won the Noble prize for Chemistry though.


	45. Chapter 45

I do not own, or receive any benefits from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 45- Deceits and honesty

Hermione Granger had lied (mainly by omission) to the man she most respected in the world, and had no regrets. As she had been sitting in the wheeled chair in the Solarium of the Infirmary, when the Headmaster asked if she had heard any loose talk about dead criminals being seen around the school, she had looked him directly in the eye, and answered: "No, sir. I haven't caught that bit of school gossip. Could you fill me in on it? I'd hate to look like a dunce if everyone is talking about it, and I haven't a clue, being locked up here for the last few days. Surely, sir, you can give me a leg up on this?"

Dumbledore had broken eye contact with her, laughed, and said that it was just a bit of childish nonsense she shouldn't worry about. When he was assured that she hadn't written anything to her parents about her little escapade he had left, satisfied that once again he had been right on the mark about her. A truly brilliant girl, but something of a shallow toady in personality; quite a bit like Horace.

Hermione hadn't heard any talk about dead criminals; as far as she was concerned if Neville had said (before he had disappeared) Barty Crouch Jr. was alive and attacking people, that was exactly what was happening. Still, she had looked Dumbledore in the eyes, and fed him a line. She had heard that he could tell if you were lying, so she had told a lying truth. It seemed he had bought it, despite the stories that he could somehow look into your thoughts.

It also hinted at some scary things; the strongest and wisest wizard in the world could be fooled, easily. Evil men walked the world, and you couldn't depend on the grown-up good guys to stop them. In the end you only had what was in your own hands and mind, and (if you were lucky) your friends to count on.

She did have them. Harry, Ron, Luna, Neville (wherever he was), and others. She thought of Annette. Of her offer to sic Cousin Leo on Harry's enemies. Was he a Muggle, or a Man from Cathay? The people who she could count on were mostly too inexperienced to win in a wizarding fight, but what would a wizard do against someone who could come at them from a completely unexpected direction, in a completely different style?

She remembered something her father had once quoted to her mother, "People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf." Ron and Harry had been training without pause for months. They were doing their part; it was time for her to be more than Miss Ready Reference. She just hoped that she could do that without becoming the Hermione in the cave.

Harry sneaked in to see her that night, as the note Hedwig had carried had promised. It was two days after Neville had been whisked away by his grandmother. A boy with an invisibility cloak, a broom, and a wish to get into room with windows facing an interior courtyard was a good bit harder to stop than the Infirmary's security wards could handle.

At first their talk, as he sat on the edge of her bed, was all about how her recovery was going, how the other Houses in their year were reacting to being able to get top scores academically in her absence, and how much more of a slave driver Ron had become since Neville's attack. They had started doing spell-dodging drills, and snap-shooting stunners on the move. He was saying these things with pride; he and Ron were driving each other to become better. It felt good, and now he felt like he had a brother, someone he could always trust.

"Harry, isn't Luna a little jealous of all this time you and Ron have together? I wouldn't want her to send any of her imaginary animals after you for stealing her man."

"They have at least one hour of snogging time scheduled daily, the which they usually exceed by a good margin most days. One of the perks of being a Ravenclaw is the knowledge they have of all the most secure and private places in the Castle for their 'personal time.' Before you ask it, the 'Claw prefects never seem to schedule inspections of those places when they're occupied." Harry was proud of this bit of insider information.

"I'm sure secret tokens are left out to warn them. Which do you think is the most dangerous for the Wizarding World: the Hufflepuff Conspiracy, or the Ravenclaw Cabal?" Hermione joked.

"Certainly not the Slytherin Cloddishness. I mean, if Draco the Clueless is a leader in that, how dangerous can they be?"

"At least Ron and Luna know how to put their sneaking after curfew time to good usage. Harry, I'll be out of here in two or three more days at most. You shouldn't waste your sleep time sneaking in here. Hunt up some amorous girl… no, I'm not putting Ginny onto you… and practice so you don't forget where the noses go when you kiss. No reason to let all of your summer experience get rusty. Maybe she'll know someone who'll be able to teach me, I still can't figure out how people can do that so easily."

Harry gave a frown at that. "I'm surprised that a star of Arithmancy and Geomancy is puzzled by that. It's all a matter of the proper angle of approach. See, tilt the heads this way and that, and…"

Ron was asleep when Harry finally got back in through the window. He ultimately decided there was no point in waiting up for his friend. Either Hermione and Harry had found a new topic of conversation, or Harry had finally, really, gotten over Annette. Ron was betting on the second possibility. He had noticed how big a crush Hermione had had for Harry during the summer. Ron wasn't jealous in the least,_ he_ had his Luna; for the first time in his life he knew he wasn't second place, or the tag-along little brother. The Twins had, in what was for them a benign manner, tried pranking them affectionately. Together, Luna and Ron had pranked them back to a standstill. Forge and Gred had offered a truce, so Ron could train Harry. They never interrupted really important stuff.

Harry spent all the next day in a cheerful, if exhausted, haze. The one after that also. Finally, when Hermione was discharged from the Infirmary Luna had a little "sit-down" talk with her about letting the boy get on a regular schedule, including sleep. Hermione started giggling, but promised to try. Over the next few weeks they settled into the habits of a happy pair. Mostly she didn't even notice the mixed envy and respect in the glances she was getting from many of the fifth year and below girls in the corridors, and even in Gryffindor Tower. Ginny Weasley went so far as to start dating Dean Thomas in retaliation.

She quickly realized that this was a mistake. Dean was good looking, funny, and smart. When she was with him she was always having a good time. How could she show to Harry what depths she was being driven to by his dating Hermione, when every time he saw her with Dean it was obvious that they were getting along together fine? Worse, it was getting harder to keep her anger and resentment towards Hermione fresh and hot, when she herself was having that good time. Ginny began to have a suspicion that perhaps she really _hadn't_ been completely grownup when she had decided that Harry Potter was the only man she could ever want. Perhaps she could just give herself a pass on that one; she had only been six at the time.

The day of the Second Trial of the Triwizard Tournament dawned much as you would expect of Scotland in the latter part of February: gray, blustery, and damp. There were viewing stands erected on either side of the judges table, with a medical tent behind it. The stands were surprisingly well filled, considering that unless the task was for the contestants to be dueling each other while walking on the water there would be very little to be seen for the hour long length of the event.

Harry, Cedric, and Viktor were standing in a clump near the edge of the water, swimming suits and a few pieces of other gear on, chatting about Quidditch. They had done a bit of Quidditch scrimmaging against each other in the last few months, and found out that they got along fairly well. Fleur, not a player and suffering under instructions to maintain her dignity at all times, had been left out of this. Now, she felt lonely and isolated.

The judges explained the actual rules for the event. Cutting through the boring explanations was someone wearing the robes of _**The Quidditch Reporter**_ managing to dunk himself in the lake, and barely managing to get airborne again. He left, no doubt, to find someplace to dry his robes in privacy. A typically well managed Ministry event.

Each champion, in their proper order, prepared themselves and dove into the water. Viktor the shark-headed, Harry in gills, Cedric and Fleur with their bubblehead charms: all went in.

The gray-green light underwater didn't show anything more than ten or fifteen yards ahead, making it almost impossible to know what the right direction (probably toward the center and at the bottom) was. Harry began to become very frustrated and angry. When a huge pike zoomed toward him, mouth agape, and with blood in its eye Harry tried to dodge away. He wasn't nearly quick enough and felt it rip his suit at the hip. He pulled out the knife that Otto had given him, that he had been carrying in the combined wand/Athame holster ever since Ron had started to train him, and thrust just as the fish came in for its second charge. His hand-eye coordination was on target, and the fish was skewered right between the eyes. Harry pulled it off of the blade and began to fiercely tear the fish apart with his teeth. As he spit out a bone that had cut into his gums Harry realized that he wasn't exactly acting normally. Still, he had a contest to win and rivals to kill and eat. Whoa!

The water tasted bitter, not as it had the other times he had tested the Gillyweed, and he was having trouble with his field of vision. He tried desperately to calm himself.

The water carried sounds of screaming and conflict somewhere off to the left. He started to swim that way, eager for some fun. He came up to a whirling ball of Grindylows , with Fleur in the center bleeding from a dozen slashing bites. They never saw him coming, too occupied with trying to rip her to pieces, and his knife cut and cut. He never even thought of getting out his wand for a less brutal method of getting them away. When the survivors swam off Harry grabbed the feebly moving girl, her bubble head charm leaking slowly, and began to swim with her to the shore. He wanted a nice firm surface to pin her against before he did things to her, and then cut open her belly.

He finally reached the edge of the water. Fleur lay on the ground spewing up the water she had swallowed as her damaged charm had collapsed almost a minute ago. Harry looked at her, and prepared to finish his task. As she was gasping, he started to also. He coughed up water, it was good his gills were still wet enough that he could some oxygen from the air. He started to wonder what he was doing there, and why he had wanted to do such horrible things to her.

In the distance he heard screaming, as Viktor Krum surged out of the water with his shark jaws snapping, and tried to swallow large chunks of the judges. Dumbledore had the quickest wits and wand, and managed to reverse Krum's transfiguration and stun him before too much damage was done.

A short time later Cedric staggered ashore, with a merfolk trident still stuck in his leg.

As Harry collapsed, his body unable to breath properly in air until the Gillyweed wore off, Fleur managed to stand up, wave, and shout to the judges asking for help. She caught their attention, and a heated discussion broke out for a moment. Then the Masters of the Schools joined in casting a spell, and in a vast sphere of air went down in a bunch into the lake. A team of students (Durmstrang and Hogwarts) from the medical tents flew over to Harry and Fleur, ogling her a moment. As her cuts continued to ooze blood they snapped into action and put her on a broom, and flew her back to the tent.

While they were doing this Harry had crawled to the water's edge and stuck his head and neck into it. Now he could breathe again, he just wanted to kill anything in reach. As he pulled his head out again, and rationality slowly came back to him he decided it must have been both a potion _and_ a spell to get the sort of effect he had been seeing and having today. Pike were aggressive fish, but they didn't attack people. Grindylows were nasty, but not homicidal, and both Viktor and he had been evidently driven mad by something that only affected those breathing water. Neither Fleur nor Cedric had been trying to kill anyone, but they had been using a spell that didn't involve breathing in water, so the drugged water never entered their system. Both Viktor and he had been using gills. A potion to get hyper aggressive behavior, a spell to make it spread quickly throughout the lake without being too diluted to be effective.

That made sense. Now the question was why did the Headmasters (and Mistress) go into the lake afterwards? The hostages, the prizes to be rescued! They were down there, with a bunch of homicidal mermen, and who knows what else! He couldn't go in, as long as the Gillyweed was acting on him he'd be as dangerous to the hostages as the lake's other denizens, and after it wore off he'd be useless. He regretted never studying any other spell for going underwater.

Two more worried trips to the water to wet his gills enough to survive later, he saw the a huge, leaking bubble containing all the involved land-dwellers, and a hundred gallons or so of water, come up onto the shore. Durmstrang's Headmaster was shooting some bright yellow spell back into the lake, and a wicked bone-tipped spear arched up and stuck quivering into the Judges Table.

Cho, Susan, Ron, and a young blond girl were revived with a spell by the Mistress of Beauxbatons. Dumbledore and Karkaroff started working with the lake water, one sampling it and using analytical spells, the other guarding against attack.

Harry wondered why Ron was his hostage. Perhaps the Headmaster hadn't heard yet that he was going with Hermione. The effect of the Gillyweed was finally ending, and putting his blade away in the holster Harry circled around to the medical tent and stands, shivering all the way. He wondered why he hadn't rated a nice, quick, broom ride back to the warmth.

By the time he had reached there Fleur had broken out of the medical tent and was hugging the young girl and crying. From the similarity of their hair color and features it wasn't too much of a stretch of his imagination to guess that they were sisters, or at least close relatives of some sort.

The judges convened after the lake was returned to a less dangerous state, and after a loud and mean spirited debate awarded each contestant fifteen points, as none had completed their rescue. Then Viktor was fined ten points for trying to bite the judges. The three other champions started to protest, there had been sabotage and penalizing Krum was patently unfair. He nodded to them with respect, and then told them to accept the verdict. Cedric whispered to Harry, "We'll talk to him later about this."

Karkaroff stormed off, saying he wouldn't stay in this place for another minute. Viktor, though, having agreed to the terms of the contest, would have to complete it. Over the next few hours the whole Durmstrang contingent, minus Krum, had packed up and left Hogwarts.

Later, after supper, the champions and a select few students (Luna and Hermione) met in a secure classroom to clear up important details. Cedric was the first to make a proposal.

"Viktor; Harry, and I agreed, and we hope Fleur will also, that for the final challenge we will discard any advantage we might be given due to today's travesty, and all start out even. If it means killing time, or going as a bunch for a while, so be it."

Fleur nodded her head; she had been proud to try out for the contest, but risking her sister was too much. She felt a far greater loyalty to her competitors than she did to the authorities that were supposed to be in charge. An added consideration, as far as she was concerned, was that she had been taken to the cinema as a child, and from watching a number of horror movies knew that it was folly to split up the party when you didn't have to.

Viktor responded with a careful statement in his best English, "My friends, only here, with fellow students like you, do I feel safe without my back to a wall. Those who were supposed to be older, and wiser, have proven themselves the source of much of our troubles and dangers."

Luna waited to see if anyone else had anything to add to that, and then brought up the two points she felt had to be presented to the group, "Mr. Krum, with your ship is gone so you'll need someplace to stay until this is all over. I can offer you quarters in Ravenclaw tower; we've talked it over and would like to be your host. Your choices are really either us or Slytherin, and as you have been abandoned by your Headmaster, I'm not sure that would be the best place for you."

"Thank you, I accept with gratitude!"

"Besides this, I have some information that you probably should have. As a member of the craft of journalism I have a number of friends and contacts with various publications. I have been able to find out that _**The Quidditch Reporter**_ did not assign anyone to cover this entirely different sporting event. The man who fell into the water, wearing their registered robe style was not from them. He was there representing someone else."

Hermione completed the briefing at this point.

"I have talked with our Professor Snape, and there is a fairly reliable potion which would induce the effects we saw today. If in water it would make fish aggressive and bite, it's sometimes used by anglers who care more for their total catch than the sport. If it is made into a mist and breathed in it will provoke fights. Drunk, it will cause a short term period of berserk frenzy, with a chance of killing the user. The Professor seemed very disturbed when I talked to him; and no, Harry, it wasn't because you survived. Something else is going on, and as usual we are being kept ignorant. I suggest we agree to share any information we can get about things, even rumors. I doubt if today was anything less than an attempt at mass murder, and the person who tried got clean away."

They agreed to Hermione's proposal, and Luna followed Viktor down to the Main Hall to get his things. Then she led him to his room with the 'Claws. She wasn't too worried about him handling the riddle entrance task at the Tower; once he got used to thinking in English rather than Bulgarian he would be more than bright enough to handle getting in.

Harry walked back to his dorm, mentally composing the letters he would be sending to Sirius, Uncle Algie (it seemed natural to call him that. Everyone should have an eccentric Uncle Algie), and Neville. The way things were developing he wouldn't be lacking for things of interest to write.


	46. Chapter 46

I do not own or receive any benefit from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 46- Fallout

Tom Riddle was practically skipping down the corridor to the room where he was going to engage in Administrative Management, Dark Lord style. He felt good, very good, especially for a man in his seventies who had already died once. Think about it; body disintegrated, spirit wandering about and occasionally possessing the weak willed. Pretty much a definition of a sort of being dead, right? But just a Dark Ritual at the right time, a bit of dear old Dad, a piece of ugly and obedient Anathema Bulstrode (poor thing had bled out afterwards) and the blood of a Longbottom had gotten him back into fighting trim. Tom wondered if he should do something nice for the boy: send him a new broom for his birthday, or some drugs. Ah, but there was Crouch the loyal, waiting for his reward; thoughts of sending birthday gifts would have to be postponed until Lord Voldemort's social calendar was less crowded.

Barty Crouch, Jr. rolled on the ground in his urine and filth, screaming. Having, despite all odds, completed once again both a penetration of Hogwarts and the operational part of his mission, he was being given Crucio after Crucio. The reason was simple; no one had died. Oh, maybe the odd merman, and certainly a few Grindylows were goners. None of the Cup contestants had worse than the odd scratch. None had even committed a clear crime. The Ministry wasn't disgraced, Dumbledore wasn't embarrassed, and there was only the smallest international incident. The whole purpose of the exercise had failed. Someone had to pay, and it certainly wasn't going to be the designer and planner of the whole thing. Accordingly, Barty had to suffer for the Cause. In recognition of his basic innocence Voldemort was going to allow him to clean himself up before the others came for the meeting that evening. As a loyal Pure Blood he deserved at least that much consideration.

Severus Snape was contemplating mutilation. Could he sever his left arm, the one with the Dark Mark, quickly enough that the Mark couldn't migrate to some other part of his body before the separation was complete? If only the chances were a little better he would have given it a try. Perhaps Albus could help him set up a plot, so if the cutting didn't work he could flee the school and the whole spy thing and sit out the coming war as a cripple? He laughed bitterly at that; neither side really knew what mercy meant. Dumbledore was, at least, not gratuitously cruel. That, and the debts he owed, would have to be enough to keep him going until this round (he had given up hoping for a clean victory, or even defeat) was over. Time to get out the old, hated, hooded cloak. There was a meeting tonight.

House Slytherin was outraged. They had been getting a lot of mileage as being the House that Durmstrang was most scheduled with, and stayed around the most. Valuable connections and personal alliances were being made, up until Karkaroff got in a snit and flounced off. As being the ones having made the most social advantage while Durmstrang was there, they were now ones getting the most abuse and ridicule when their prestigious companions left. To add insult to insult, the one Durmstrang left, Krum himself (who would have been a social prize without the whole Tournament at all) had moved into Ravenclaw Tower! Sure, he had been quiet, even silent on occasion, and going out with a 'Puff, but going to Ravenclaw rather than getting a suite in the Dungeon was a bitter blow. Almost a betrayal; certainly he wouldn't have many a Snake rooting for him in the future. Being, besides a world class Seeker, a very nasty character at DADA no one was going to be actually harassing him, but he was going to receive the most glacial of Cold Shoulders as well as the Cut Direct.

Draco Malfoy had bigger things on his plate than snubbing someone who had been indifferent, at best, to the fawning that he had been receiving before, and was even more so now to his ostracism by the "best" society in the school. Draco had met the Dark Lord. Had met him and been given a promise that a bright future was in store if Draco could match his loyal achievements to the dignity of his Blood. Hints of fierce violence, subtle espionage, exciting pilferage capers, leading to high office and renown; all in the best of causes. What bright and high-spirited boy of fifteen could refuse a call like that?

To the confusion of the whole school, the Beauxbatons contingent, and those odds makers who were able to get straight insider information, the champions were all training together. The work each had done by themselves, with their regular school help, was nothing but a warm-up for them now. Physically and in spellcraft, they pushed themselves under Ron and Hermione's critical eyes closer to their limits. Even Victor, a survivor of Durmstrang's advanced Agressvie Vertiedigung course, found the stress Ron placed on accuracy and versatility of spells a valuable reminder to not let opponents set the pace and nature of a fight. As Physical Instructor Ron had to keep pace with his charges, while Hermione, as well as doing research for valuable spells, used her passion for precision to critique spell delivery and efficiency. Fleur put more into the training than she had ever thought she had in herself. As the only woman she felt that she had not only Beauxbatons' honor riding on keeping up with the others, but that of her gender. Luna kept a sharp eye out for those too interested in where and when any of the champions would be, or how they planned on getting there, as well as being one of the paths of communication with the outside.

That didn't mean that everything that was done was a joint enterprise. Classes were, of course, times of separation. At least when that happened there were always other classmates around. Viktor was always attracting Quidditch groupies (even in Ravenclaw) and was never without some companions unless he wanted it. Luna had managed to convince (or perhaps blackmail, no one ever knew for sure) the 'Claw prefects to discover and isolate a set of rooms for private downtime for the contestants, their study partners and aides. So Viktor each night had some study time with Susan, Cedric with Cho, Harry with Hermione, and Luna with Ron, and Fleur (disappointedly) with whatever Beauxbatons girl she could commandeer for the night. If it had mattered her grades would have suffered; she and her friend spent their time gossiping and speculating at what more interesting subjects the others were currently involved with.

It was the Gryffindor/Ravenclaw axis that was the first to know, and certainly the ones most affected, by Neville's fifth letter from his secret hideout. They all tended to imagine Nev somewhere in a cave, perhaps in the Alps, guarded by Grandma Augusta like a treasure by a dragon. They would go, once a week or so, into town to buy provisions, always covering their faces and keeping their backs to walls. Or at least that was the favorite mental image in Hogwarts of those that spent much time thinking about Longbottom.

Hermione was glad they were having this get-together; she had finally, after much badgering and reminding, gotten answers back from her parents about some of the images she had seen in her prophetic trance. That was a much nicer way of saying things than "I drank stuff that put me clean out of my head and saw some pretty wild things. Then I ran around in the dark and ended up getting beaten up." Harry would get everyone in a happy mood with a little news from Neville, and then she would get into the heavy and important stuff. She wanted to hear everyone's, especially Luna's, opinion on her chains of reasoning and tentative conclusions.

Having made sure that every privacy spell and ward they knew of (far beyond those of most third/forth years thanks to Sirius' new-founded business and vocation) was up and running; Harry started reading Neville's letter:

_As I write to you from my secret underwater lair (you don't think I was researching Gillyweed just for you, do you Harry?)I look back upon a very interesting and confusing few weeks. I have continued my studies, and now can ruin a cauldron in half the time I could before. Don't tell Snape, who is probably gloating about how potions messed up the entire Triwizard thing, but some of the things I've found out about Herbology could have done pretty much what you describe. True, I'd have to use about a ton of it to affect something like the Lake. Still, the principle is the same._

_ I'm glad to hear about how you lot are sticking together; looking back over the last few years it looks more and more as if there has been a long term plan working up. The trouble with figuring out what it is that the stupidity of the Ministry is hard to tell apart from actual hostility. Oft does idiocy evil help?_

_ About a month ago I saw someone who matched the description I'd heard of someone's younger brother. Some brilliant deductions (don't be jealous Hermione!) later and I was having a face to face meeting with one of our favorite Mexican cooks. She's doing fine, except from dropping a few pounds from overwork. As she had nothing excess to lose in the first place, this tells you how hard she must have been working._

_ As I have been told that I am a good influence on her I've been conscripted for the last few weeks to meet with her regularly and make sure that she eats right and exercises. So I've put on a good half stone in the last few weeks, and she must have added half a pound or so, but on her it looks good. _

_ For reasons too complicated to go into, plus if I told you I'd have to Obliviate you, I have met both Otto's Uncle Al, and Otto's Boss, who is not anyone's Uncle Al. Uncle Al is a sort of successful disgrace, and was very friendly to Otto for clearing up some unhappy family business recently. The injuries should be healed in a few weeks at most. Uncle Al helped me with some of my memory difficulties, as a favor to Otto._

_ Otto's Boss is scarier than Snape, at least from a remove of several hundred miles or more. Imagine someone cold, intelligent, and who looks at you as a lesser species. Are you worth using, or is it just your hide that has value? That's what his eyes say. Otto used to babysit his daughter._

_ Otto is in bad odor with the MFC (as a group), not for pissing off his immediate supervisor (most everyone seems to think he was justified), but for once again discovering Things Man Is Not Meant To Know. Evidently he makes a habit of this, and it's starting to get annoying. The Boss, however, likes this as an antidote to complacency. He wrote a cheque to Otto while I was there for a number of "specimens" delivered for study. One had been alive, at least at first. Did I mention this was all scary business?_

_ On less bladder emptying topics, I am completely recovered physically, and have gotten a part time job to pick up some pocket money. Just scut work really, but Grandmother is surprisingly tight with allowance, and a galleon of two extra in the pocket will be a great relief when I take Annette out on a date._

_ I'm going for it in any case, sorry Harry. On second thought, not sorry at all. She never bad-mouths you, and certainly misses the whole gang. She makes excuses on why she stopped writing, but the reality is she just gets too depressed when she tries. She's not depressed when she talks to me. If she shoots me down in flames, they will be beautiful to see, and well worth it. Faint heart, etc.._

_ Yours,_

_ Neville Longbottom, future Master of Atlantis_

Hermione hadn't looked away from Harry's face the entire time he had been reading the letter. When the subject of Annette had come up she had started to become worried at how he must be feeling. She was surprised to see at the end a look pass between Harry and Ron, who was having his shoulders massaged by a very serious Luna. Harry spoke first, before he was done Ron had joined in.

"Go Neville!" "Yes!"

Well, that eased Hermione's fears that Harry was still hung up over Annette. She allowed her face to break out in a smile, Neville's letter had ended up being nothing but good news, after all.

"It's about time he started to get a social life; Lady Augusta won't be there to boss him around forever, you know." Luna said. Hermione could only agree.

After a few moments to bring up anecdotes of Neville's Hogwarts career (not nearly as much fun as it would have been if Neville had been there to get mortally embarrassed), Hermione gave the others a heads up on what her parents had made of her memories of her vision.

"My parents remembered that I had been very impressed when I was younger by a color plate from a book-" at which everyone gave a knowing nod, "-on archeology. They sent me a copy of it. Here." She passed around a picture of the restored Throne Room of the palace of Minos at Knossos in Crete. On either side of a carved stone high backed chair were two great, beautiful crouched beasts with heads like Egyptian holy hawks on top of the body of a lion. For Hermione the shape was unmistakable. What the slow lightning that had been going on inside it was still a mystery, but certainly things had advanced.

"They're Gryphons of a sort, protectors of rightful order." She continued.

"They do look a bit odd, 'Mione. Not the ordinary sort, maybe?" Ron put in.

"They look like eastern Gryphons. Persia, the Caucasus, somewhere around there." Luna added.

Harry looked at the picture, then frowned: "It's probably something else, but I'd talk to Parvati a bit. Her family is eastern, and she's a Gryff. I know, pretty obvious stuff, but prophesy seems to like to take you by surprise half the time by being too obvious to bother checking up on. Just a suggestion."

Hermione was about to override him, but stopped for two reasons: having finally got a boyfriend she was not going to start belittling him over things like this. The second being, on looking things over, he was exactly right. It was probably a bit too obvious, but that might just mean it was cleverly hidden in plain sight. Certainly worth a check of her roommate to see if Parvati knew, or was, something that might be useful. Feeling slightly ashamed at thinking of a friend-ish sort of person as being interesting only if useful, Hermione continued.

"As the vision was inside my head I'm currently working on the supposition that the images would have to relate to things from my life, in a symbolic manner. If that doesn't pan out, we'll have to start subjecting Harry to merciless psychological analysis and entertaining drugs, hypnosis and memory viewing. Let's hope it doesn't come to this, as I'm not too eager to meet memories of his relatives and their gentle natures.

"The dog is a complete mystery to me, but might refer to Sirius, or his daughter. In which case this is going to take a long time to figure out, but at least things will be all right for the next few years. The lion thingy… well, my folks came through with that one. When I was about four we had all gone to some sort of a fancy Chinese restaurant, and I became sort of frightened at a pair of statues that they had at their entrance. I was finally quieted down when they convinced me that they were some sort of protectors. The silvery sounds I remembered must be the sound of tableware being used inside the place coming out through the doors. The statues are supposed to be of a male and female lion. The male has a ball under his foot. They're in this picture," Hermione passed around a Muggle photograph, "and they aren't too bad statues of a lion, if you consider the artist probably never saw one."

"Someone male, from China. Or something protective that had been made there," Luna put in.

"Feng Shui, Geomancy, they do some stuff with mirrors too that no one else has ever figured out properly," Ron added. "How about your monkey, Hermione? We should probably drop it a polite line or two."

"Sun Wukong is sort of a huge hero with common Muggles in China, but it's a He, and a lot more physical than poetic. Though he had a lot a children, so maybe one of them is interested in helping us. She was definitely different from the other beasts. They were a lot more… remote in a way. She was in charge of what she was doing. They didn't know, or couldn't do anything about Neville. She knew, and wanted to help. Of all the visions, I really think this one is the one we can trust the most."

"Future Hermione seemed to be eager to help, and from your description she had great fashion sense," Luna said approvingly as she stroked Ron's arm.

Hermione had left off a few bothersome details in her description of Future Hermione, mostly those dealing with blood and digit removal. She didn't want to bring that up right now and break the upbeat mood, so she just smiled knowingly at the couple and led Harry to a less visible part of the room to work on their non-vocal communication skills.

That night, as she lay in her bed all clean and cooled off, she went back over the non-romantic part of the conference. Perhaps it would give her a better way to approach Parvati about… things.

Hmmm, Otto (for lack of a better name) was evidently the one the family looked toward for dealing with things of importance, and injury to the family. His uncle was successful, but evidently in a disgraceful or shady manner. The almost-equation was adding up in only one way. Otto was actually their cousin Leo, the leg-breaker. Annette had been cautioned not to talk too much about him, because it was supposed to be a secret for some reason. So Otto=Leo. And of course that must mean Leo= …a lion? Since Leo was a Man from Cathay, which was the old name for China, Sirius' silly MCF might be the best help she could find for Harry. She had no idea how, or why, but now they had a way of contacting Leo, and Annette, and maybe they could help figure out those details. Annette was smart; frighteningly smart. She knew almost nothing about magic, but she and Hermione had gone through the first two years of Arithmancy texts together in less than ten days, spurring each other on. What would she know about Feng Shui, or other Oriental things?

Annette could put pressure on Otto… Leo, and if Neville was her boyfriend (Go Longbottom!) he could put pressure on her to do that. Plus she was still… favorably inclined was the safest way to put it… toward Harry and the rest of them. Hermione had always had the feeling that Leo didn't like to work except for a very good reason. He went out of his way to be accommodating as a host. He evidently was willing to go in harm's way for his family; what would make him go to the limit for strangers? Certainly nagging by his sister wouldn't be enough for that. If he wanted to be paid, how much would it be, and in what coin?

Sirius Black looked at the ledger book in front of him with satisfaction. The Three Broomsticks was solidly in the black; the trade from visitors for the Tournament had augmented an already solid business. What was remarkable was the next page over, the one with his contribution to the family finances. For the first time in five generations a Black had made more money than he had spent, and made his money outside of rents, fees, and government salaries. He, to the disgrace of generations of Blacks too noble to be in trade, was in trade, and doing quite well at it.

Working at his spells far more diligently than he ever had in school, or the short adult time he had enjoyed before he was framed, he had become adept and quick in the creation of spells, amulets, and wards of detection. They might not be anything more than rough and ready expedients; larger, cruder, and less subtle than those of more experienced crafters, but they worked, were hard to detect themselves, and were long lasting. As he was doing the same with anti-Apporation wards he had developed a nice little business supplying the MFC with a level of security no place outside of the Ministry of Magic building or Gringotts had. Then add in his reselling of potions and fees for consulting…

The results were there in the ledger. Income from rents and fees to the Noble House of Black: 7,238 G, 15 S, 6 K. Income from sales of created materials, consulting and re-sale of items: 12,037 G, 6 S, 2 K. Sirius Black had betrayed his heritage by becoming a successful businessman! It was a revenge on all the stuffy generations of past Blacks that Sirius could not have imagined a few years earlier. Of course, then he'd had trouble imagining having a full belly.

He certainly was working on both improving his product, and expanding his line; it felt good to be doing this. It was possibly treason to the cause of Pure-Blood (a good thing); while he really didn't think it was treason to the Wizarding World. The MFC were worried about wizards, but they weren't paranoid about them, and Sirius had his own, private, sources of information that convinced him that no danger of an attack from that direction was likely, or even possible.

Sirius looked at the letter Algie had forwarded to him. So Neville was at Salem! In return for information and training on how to make amulets, wards, and craft spells of detection for a market in a different location Neville Longbottom was offering him 15% of the net on his sales. Sirius Black was going to be the first person to have a franchised magical business! If only Mother could see him now. Not Walburga the portrait, he had ended up on fairly good terms with her, but Mother, the original lemon-sour face. Of course he was going to demand 25% of the gross, and eventually settle for less, but having an apprentice would be interesting training for when his daughter, and any other children he might have, grew older and needed to be taught.

If Julia approved he would go forward with this. It was a bit of a slow period at the Broomsticks, being between events. There was no reason not to take a quick jaunt across the waters, and see a bit more of the world. He had a suspicion it would let him get a chance to satisfy some of his curiosity about the Men from Cathay. Also, he thought it should give a chance to confer with Otto, who even though he wasn't a wizard was very knowledgeable about some very wizardly problems.

Author's Note:

Agressvie Vertiedigung = Aggressive Defense.


	47. Chapter 47

I do not own, or receive any benefit from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 47-Fog lifts at dawn

Leo Green watched his girlfriend, Alina Ganzakian, walk away. Nothing to complain about on the girl, front or rear, high or low. She was even intelligent; the problem was that except for their physical compatibility, they just didn't have a lot of mutual interests. That and she really wanted them to be together: mostly by him opening up to her and changing some of his little ways. He couldn't make himself do that for her; most of his little ways were tied in to him training himself in various Psi and Normal ways to prepare for violent disasters. So, the only fair thing to do was to break up with her, probably within the next few days.

Let's see; his long absences from class, coming back with injuries, a membership in a gun club in gun-controlling Massachusetts, and a tendency to carry weapons at all times. She'd already asked if he was doing a little drug trafficking to pay for his tuition; perhaps he could say that it was about not wanting to get her involved in that kind of stuff? No, that wouldn't work. She'd just think it was exciting, like how her family had survived until they had gotten into America after fleeing the Armenian Massacres.

As he wandered back to his dorm he finally came to a conclusion; he would have to hurt her, unforgivably. As he knew he couldn't do that physically, he'd have to have to do it the nasty way.

Or maybe he could decide he was just over-thinking the whole thing and just say he liked her, but it wasn't working out. Maybe that would be best. As he entered his room he saw that the answering machine for his phone wasn't on, even though he always left it that way when he was out of the room. That meant one thing, so he picked up the phone and asked, "What's the big news, Sis?"

Liz was using her own voice this time, an indication she was excited about something.

"Nev asked me out! To a real date, not just a 'feed Liz that milkshake, the poor skinny thing.' I didn't even hint, and he did it. And he has tickets to a concert and everything, and it's not even a group he likes but I do! He is so cool!"

"I thought you said his grandmother was a little nervous about you two."

"She's not the one asking me out. And we get along pretty good, just she's in paradox land and doesn't know it yet. She wants Nev to charm up the ladies, and them to respond. But she's the type that'll never find any that are good enough for him. Thank goodness Nev's got a more realistic viewpoint. Not only is he asking me out, he's running with that idea you pitched for him with Mr. Fermi. He's asked Sirius to train him, or make him a distributer or something for fine quality magical stuff for those without their own magic."

Leo smiled at Liz's enthusiasm. "Good, I was worried that it was all going to be a scam job done on someone who doesn't scam all that well. It was the best way I could figure to keep him from getting a mind-wipe for knowing too much. A valued supplier would have to know what we need, and why."

"Mind-wipe? Are you watching too many Sci Fi shows again?""

"You haven't been keeping up, have you? Check it out. We can't do careful editing or faking, but leaving a scrambled wasteland is well within current capability."

There was a moment of silence on the other end as Liz sent her thoughts down pathways leading to files and records guarded by multiple layers of passwords, traps, tell-tales and blocks. They never had a chance.

"That's disgusting!"

"Slightly less so than the alternatives suggested, or the experimental protocols originally proposed."

"Why is your name cited on so many of the reports?"

"Did you actually _read_ the cites?"

There was another moment of silence, and then Liz's voice back on the line: "OK, so you're not quite as disgusting as the others. Why was Neville up for it?"

"As I said, he knew too much and was too smart to be allowed to figure out the rest unless he was definitely on _our _side. Plus, our usual assortment of would-be mad scientists really wanted to have a wizard's brain to take apart. As I thought you were maybe-perhaps a little sweet on the guy I decided to derail his appointment with oblivion. Don't worry; if that way hadn't worked I did have a plan B."

"Why are we _doing _this sort of thing? Aren't we the _good _guys?"

"Science marches on, and are we not the children of its bleeding edge? There was a certain chance that the first bomb test would set the atmosphere on fire. But our ancestors did it anyway, and we would do it today. Wouldn't we?"

A little awkward silence followed, with Liz trying to find an upbeat and businesslike way to break the mood.

"So, Leo, when will I get to see your mission report on that little Spring Break trip Uncle Alfonso got you to take back to Sonora? Evidently there's only a hardcopy somewhere. Couldn't you find a word processor, or have someone upload it so I could read it? All the rest of the team are so deep into therapy, those that are coherent, that I can't get a good take on what really happened."

"When you're on the Board, Sis. Hardcopy only was one of my conditions for writing it up at all."

"Come on Leo, it couldn't be that bad, could it?"

Leo let the silence get longer and longer, until the silence itself became the message.

"Shit, Leo, it _couldn't _have been that bad!"

"When I got there I saw it was new and bad stuff going on. I called for an experienced field team. Five agents, we may get three of them back, and that's only because DeMarco is some sort of a hero, and covered their retreat. I'm glad he's recovering. Liz, things got through my _Shell_, and the Occlumency. If I wasn't thick as a stump with a tendency to violence it would have been a clean sweep. As it was fourteen Normals died, _after_ we got there. So, yeah, it was that bad. That's all I'm giving you, until you are old, grey, and shriveled up, and on the Board.

"On… for you… a happier note, I've decided to break up with Alina. And no, she isn't boring. Just… compatibility issues."

A small, smug grin spread on her face. At last he was listening to his smarter sibling. On the matter of the Sonora thing Liz decided she would have to go over the studies done on the specimens Leo had brought back. The first time she had done that the data had all been so confusing, maybe now there was enough in so that it would make sense. Right, now to give Leo the Other Big News.

"Anyway, when Nev and I got back to his place yesterday, right after he asked me to the concert, who do you think was having High Tea with Grandma Longbottom? Sirius Black himself, with all sorts of pictures of the baby, and Julia, and the guys over there!

"He asked, so I said yes, so he'll be up there tomorrow to visit you because he actually thinks you know something that can help him. You're already committed, so don't argue. Now that you're free of the dragging-you-down queen you can take him out and stuff, but don't you let him do anything that would get him in any trouble. So, you don't introduce him to any beautiful identical twins or anything, got it?"

"Understood, little Sis. Though that little meeting may be a bit less productive than he imagines it will be. I have some important things to do tomorrow."

It took Sirius Black over two and a half hours to travel the 82 miles from Salem to Amherst. Even with magic, the Massachusetts road system, especially at rush hour, was hard to unravel. Flying, with all of the commercial and private aircraft crowded into the BosWash Corridor, was not a safe proposition at all. Riding his '59 Triumph 650 up to the sidewalk in front of the dorm Leo Green was living at brought him a fair amount of attention. The gear heads were salivating at the classic bike in mint condition. Of the non-mechanically inclined of the college (UMass) at least as many, mostly of the female persuasion, were drooling over the classic long haired and _almost _mint (just enough weathering to make him incredibly interesting) condition rider. Long used to this, Sirius just went up to suite number he had been given and received information from one of the other residents as to the bar Leo was most likely at.

That didn't sound like the person he remembered from Britain. It wasn't until the suitemate told him the reason Leo was atypically hitting the bars so early in the day did things become clear. Sirius left on foot, after casting a "You don't want me" charm on his bike, chuckling.

Just two weeks ago, Remus and he had been down in the bar at the Broomsticks, and Remus had gotten completely plastered while moaning about how he had to break up with Dora, and free her to be with some younger wizard without all of his problems and baggage. As Sirius had heard (at a polite afternoon visit at her apartment) Dora's side of things he had found it hilarious. Remus said he was too old, she said he was wise. Remus said he was beaten up by life, she said he was tough and enduring. And so on and so forth. All in all, Sirius agreed with his niece, but figured that only after his sometimes-furry friend had moaned out all his doubts… and was sober again… would Dora's verbal and physical arguments be able to carry the day. So, if fact, it had proved.

It was at the fourth bar he had been given directions that Sirius finally spotted Leo at a table in a dark corner. The manager didn't object to one person occupying the table, especially as Sirius could see three empty pitchers of beer on it with a fourth being delivered. As it was expected that one pitcher could take the edge off the thirst of four or so young men, it was evident that Leo was a man on a mission. Getting a glass from the barkeep Sirius sat himself down at the table. It was only after he had poured himself a glass that Leo noticed him and nodded hello.

"Next rounds' yours," Leo slurred.

"Perhaps we should take a keg or two home, and drink in comfort?"

"Don't want to be comfortable, want it to hurt. She cried, I made her cry. Want it to hurt. Even when you say 'it's not you, it's me' and it is, they still think it was them. I _should_ hurt."

This was starting to look like one of James' breakups with Lily; messy, loud, and requiring medical attention afterwards. Best cut this evening short; he wanted Leo aware of something beyond the pain of a hangover tomorrow when they talked. Accordingly, checking left and right to make sure they weren't being observed, Sirius cast a quick Stupefy on Leo. To give him credit it took a second spell to put him down, drunk as he was.

Another hidden casting to lighten the boy up, and it became simple to pull him out of his seat and half carry him out of the place. When the worried barkeep tried to tell him that the drunk had been carded on the way in Sirius just gave a friendly nod, and told the man that as someone who had worked behind a bar himself, he knew that these things happened. From then on it was a piece of cake, with a bit of Disillusionment on them both to avoid having to answer any awkward questions on the way back.

The next day, a sober and less masochistic Leo accepted the pain handling potions Sirius offered when he woke at the crack of noon. After a brunch that satisfied the requirements of the basic food groups (coffee, eggs, pancakes, bacon, ham, orange juice, toast, and seconds) they went on the 'cycle to a park, found a bench near a stream, and settled in for a talk.

"Thanks for whatever you did last night. I haven't had a good sleep in weeks."

At Sirius's quizzical look he continued:

"I ran into something pretty nasty a while back, been having nightmares ever since. Really screws up a gentle night's rest." Leo looked pensive for a moment, then continued. "After we get the immediate stuff done, I'll brief you. It doesn't interact with your stuff, I think, but you might find it useful someday."

Sirius smiled and started out with a jibe: "Something you won't decide is too hot to handle and put under a security blanket? I'm surprised. It took months, and the magic touch of True Love hitting your sister, for me to even be certain what your name was. _Now _you start opening up?"

"You're right: I'm taking you off the 'cleared for briefing' list. Thanks for helping me avoid a mistake. That cleared up, are you here for the fishing, or is this business?"

Sirius gave a look around, drew his wand, and cast some spells of detection. All clear, at least as far as his abilities allowed him to check.

"I got started thinking, after you returned Kreacher's locket, about what exactly the damn thing was, and if there were more of them. Couldn't find out anything myself, so I asked Remus to check up on it. He went to every available source in Europe, sweet talked the Hogwarts Librarian, and finally consulted Miss Granger. Everything fit together in the end. There's a spell and ritual you can do that splits your soul, and puts part of it in a safe place. Unless that separate part is destroyed, and it's not easy, you don't really die when your body should. Called a Horcrux, the receptacle is.

"Best I can see the locket was one; the book Harry destroyed a few years back was another. As long as Voldemort has one of those things active, he's going to be around annoying folks."

Leo had been nodding his head as Sirius gave the results of his research. He had a few questions about the things: "If he has a few hundred of these things made, it'll be pretty hard to take them all out. Have you let the Aurors in on what you've found out? Or did they already know, and were keeping it quiet?"

"There's a limit on how many of these things you can make. Each time you do it you rip off part of your soul," Sirius replied, "and after a bit you start getting unstable, to the point you don't have the mental discipline to go through the spell properly. Most people couldn't do even one, a few powerful wizards might be able to do two or three. Voldemort? Who knows his limits? But he isn't a hundred, or even twenty times as strong as the average wizard. At least two, up to ten, maybe?

"I talked to some people I know, and I even went to Dumbledore; nobody, including the Aurors, admitted to knowing about this. I'd have heard about any open cases or major searches going on. I do know the Ministry refuses to admit Voldemort is back in any form, and won't act. Dumbledore told me to tell no-one, and wanted to take the memories of the research from me. I said that Remus and Julia would look at me funny if I came home that day and didn't remember why I had come to see the Headmaster. He got thoughtful then; must of figured that it was too late to horde the information to himself, or be sure of getting to all three of us. Anyway, he said he'd check up on things, and asked me to promise to have them not tell anyone. I have, and they promised. Me, though? Never made any such promise. Old boy is getting sloppy, don't you think?"

Leo got up and started pacing back and forth. Finally he began to talk as his thoughts got clear enough for words.

"So, he started out all controlled, and has been getting sloppier and less mentally disciplined as he's gotten more and more sure of his immorality. Does this weaken his actual magic?

"Nobody in authority… Dumbledore's in the courts, right? Nobody in authority wants to get involved because the political fall-out of being the bearer of bad tidings is too great. Are you sure you want to get involved in this? You're pureblooded as they come, so's your wife. You should be able to ride out this thing if you don't stick your head up.

Sirius's face had become flushed and red. His voice was rough and angry when he replied.

"They killed James, they killed Lily, they corrupted Peter. That's more than enough reason. Having a madman, and that's what he is by now, even if he was only a monster before he ripped his soul apart, in charge of Magical Britain is something that must not happen. Pureblood or not, I could never live in the world he and his followers would make.

"My solicitor wrote up wills for Julia and me. He checked up to see who would have been my heir if I hadn't just written one with Julia and Chrysie in it. Cousin Narcissa, with Draco as the new head of the family. When those men attacked Grimmauld Place they were told to kill me and 'the Bitch.' Frankly, with all her faults, I don't see Cissy as being up to that. Lucius was a Death Eater, and will be one again if things go Voldemort's way. Right now the Black holdings are producing about one part in five of what they should; there's generations of graft and poor management to clear up, and that takes time for sweetheart leases and buried assets to be found. Lucius the Death Eater wouldn't go to law to straighten things out, a simple murder is so much faster. My family is between him and control of over a million Galleons in cash, land and rents. That is not a good place to be."

Leo shook his head: "I'm sorry, Sirius, I just can't kill him because he's the most likely suspect. As Cicero said: 'The sinews of war are infinite money.' Do you have a hundred thousand or so to spare? I know I could get the boys over in Britain to do a full work-up on Malfoy and get enough evidence to hang him."

Sirius laughed. "You are certainly direct Leo. I expected some pious statements about talking to the Aurors about it. If this level of threat was there for your family, would you hesitate for a moment?"

Leo sighed, and sat down again. "I'd be working right now on making it look like a burglary gone wrong.

"I'll be done here in two weeks, so in three weeks I can be over there for the summer. I might be able to get the Brit branch to do some work for you at 20 Galleons a day per head. I charge breakfasts and dinners. If things turn up, but there's no way proof can be produced, I'll try to get creative.

"The Voldemort thing, though. I'm still getting my mind around it. Do you have any ideas? Can you even locate these things? You're only telling me about these things if what you're going to try is find them yourself. You figure you have Remus for sure, and you're building a team for detection and recovery. If you ship them here, I can guarantee destruction as long as they aren't any tougher than that other one."

Sirius smiled. "Do you remember the Peter Compass we made back when? It seemed to work pretty well. Why can't we make a Horcrux compass and see where it leads us?"

"Suppose it leads us right to the original?" Leo asked.

Sirius paused, and then smiled again: "Then we run like Hell!"

"Sounds like a plan."


	48. Chapter 48

I do not own, or receive any benefits, from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 48: Boys and their toys

As Neville carefully picked his way over the slippery rocks in the narrow stream bed he was very glad that Leo Green could not read minds. Liz had told him that this was one of the rare things about both her and her brother, as compared to the rest of the MFC. Not reading minds was rare; an odd way to look at things, but useful for a young man who was having certain… thoughts about someone's sister pretty much all the time.

Neville had talked to Sirius about a lot of things besides training in ward creation, and how to run a small business. One of the things Sirius had mentioned; before he had returned to Britain on the Concorde, was that his friends in the Men from Cathay had a rough and unofficial running tally of "violent terminations" their agents had done. Leo (as Otto Hahn on their listing) was confirmed with ten, putting him in second place after John Quartermain with fourteen. Everyone said he was such a quiet boy.

Neville jammed the stick he was carrying into the near-vertical earthen bank on the far side of the stream, and pulled out two of the damaged dragonhide potions gloves from his book bag. Two rights, but it probably didn't matter to Leo if it was set or not. Leaving the others where they were, he tied the ones he had selected to a stick so that they dangled and twisted and bobbed up and down a little. Dragonhide was used for gloves and protective clothing because it was so resistant to spells (being, you know, made from dragons) and also physically strong and flexible. However, after enough use they got stiff from the various things spilled on them and lost flexibility. Being, you know, made from dragon, they were actually harder to fix than it was to get a new pair. It was also the stuff Spell-Proof battle-robes were made of. They had been tested recently (by the Unspeakables in 1762) and declared bulletproof. This had been a great comfort to Aurors and others who had to go out and deal with the violent Muggles and their inexplicable quarrels.

He looked down at the elephant foot umbrella stand he had put there on his last trip across the stream. Both Liz and Leo had agreed that destroying it would only be an act of virtue, both to esthetics and elephants the world over. Neville had quite agreed. There were several sets of holes in it; Leo's new toy seemed to be working well. Now they were going to test to see if something spelled to be tough and impervious was any better at dealing with modern Muggle equipment. If the results were positive Neville would be sure to drop a line to the Ministry telling them all was well. In fact he might do that even if the gloves were shot to pieces; lying to the Ministry was probably the wisest course in most situations.

Back across the stream Neville went, over to where Liz was talking with her brother. They were discussing taking a trip to visit a friend after the little test Leo was conducting. Liz pulled out a brick sized mobile phone (she'd gotten it second hand) and punched in a number, while Leo inserted a long magazine into the thick butt of what he was calling his new "hand cannon." Neville agreed with the definition; he'd hefted it for a bit before it was first loaded. Even empty it had weighed more than one of the baseball bats he was so inept with back at Salem.

"Five rounds, semi-wadcutter, .45 caliber," Leo said to Neville, then taking a two handed grip on the pistol brought it up level to his eye and rattled off the five rounds in less than three seconds. Then Leo lifted the binoculars he had on a cord around his neck and looked down range at his targets for a moment. He gave the binoculars to Neville, who took a minute to find the gloves in the narrow field of vision. To the best of his judgment one of the fingers had been torn off from one of the gloves, and there were two holes clear through it. He thought that Leo would probably need something bigger if he was actually going after a real dragon.

"For the other glove, five rounds jacketed hollow point," Leo said as he raised the pistol again and made the little valley fill with sound. That was the reason they were here; the narrow walls of the stream bed stopped the sound from being heard at any distance. Until they met Leo's friend he wouldn't have the paperwork to prove he legally owned the weapon, and without that proof he couldn't try it out at his gun club.

Leo flipped the pistol safety to the 'S' position. Neville took another look at the target: "About the same, I think. Evidently the Unspeakables should re-evaluate the ineffectiveness of Muggle weapons. Perhaps they'll develop a counter charm to your 'tomic bomb, in another century or two."

"_A_tomic bomb, Neville. _A_tomic Bomb. By then we'll have something worse."

Liz broke into their educational dialog: "Nate's doing an Unexploded Ordinance job over in Goshen, about seven or eight miles from here, over at their high school. Probably a 'Finals Bomb,' but he does it by the book so he'll be there for an hour or more. We'll have plenty of time to get to see him."

Leo pulled the magazine out of the gun, and then cleared the chamber before looking through it to make sure nothing was stuck in the barrel. Satisfied the weapon was in a safe condition he put it back into its box. He'd had to go all the way up to Toronto to break into the plant to get the gun, then into the office to slip the faked paperwork and a cashiers check into their files and cash drawer. After all that work he was going to take very good care of it: from what it was fed, to making sure it had a nice cleaning and oiling when he got home. Perhaps he would even give it a name. But right now he had to go see Nathan Duggan about getting the… 'adoption' papers formalized.

They picked up all their litter, except for the umbrella stand which was to be left to time and the elements to eliminate, and piled into Leo's '86 Jeep Cherokee. Neville was familiar with the car; he had ridden back from Reno (with a stop off at Los Alamos) in it after Leo had arranged for him to meet Alfonso Green, Leo's parental uncle, (minor) gambling/vice lord, and owner of mental talents beyond that of the average MFC. He had turned out to be a generous and open handed host to his family's friends, and had helped reconstruct enough of Neville's memories that the wizard could now be certain that his mind had been completely intact until several days _after _he had entered the Hogwarts Infirmary. That knowledge alone was a great relief to him; now he knew for certain what (or rather, whom) his problem was.

After navigating a tangle of cow-path, narrow lanes, and county roads they were able to get to the town of Goshen with little difficulty. About two hundred yards from the town High School they parked the car and got out. There were students along the road and on the sidewalks, talking about the building evacuation, and how it would mess up the end of term testing.

Discreetly threading their way unobserved through a patch of woods along one side of the school's football field they were able to get a bit closer, with a view of a courtyard surrounded on three sides by two story high wings. A number of police vehicles had blocked off entry along the access road to the courtyard, and state policemen were crouched besides a large and heavily built truck. Leo gave Neville the binoculars, and told him to look for the Michelin Man. Neville offered the instrument to Liz in a boyfriend-ish gesture, but she refused it. He noticed that in front of her face the air looked odd and wavery.

"She's packing the atmosphere in tighter, changing the refractive index to get some magnification. I just don't have the kind of control, 'c'est la vie.' She's up to about a three power now," Leo explained.

Neville saw an incredibly bulkily wrapped person shaped thing slowly waddling towards a gym bag leaning against a door of the building.

Leo started to give a play by play, with long intervals between comments:

"At this distance, if something that sized went off, Nate would be knocked back twenty feet, but probably wouldn't be hurt.

"Ok, now if it went off, puree of Duggan, but if he can close another ten feet or so he can disable any fuse or booby trap.

"Now, he's in charge; that sucker couldn't explode short of being set off by getting shot. None of his State Trooper friends know it though, just he's never failed. Well, he_ is_ alive, so that's pretty obvious."

Neville saw the armored bomb expert gently slice open the side of gym bag and use some tool to poke around inside it. He made a hand motion and a trashcan-sized armored container on a wheeled cart was pulled over to him at a run by two of the men near the truck, who then retreated. He carefully lifted up the bag and placed it in the canister, sealing the lid over it with a twirl of the locking mechanism. With another gesture the truck slowly drove up to him, and lowered a hydraulic tailgate. Duggan gently wheeled the bomb safe onto it, and turned on the lift mechanism. When it was level with the truck bed he pushed the safe inside, tied it down securely, and then closed the heavily armored door. He then used some hand and footholds to climb down to the ground, and yelled something to the truck driver, who slowly drove out (preceded and followed by state police cruisers) to the nearest bomb disposal area. Nate took off his bulky helmet and let the breeze blow through his sweat-dampened dark reddish-brown hair.

A small van drove over the young man, and several uniformed police got out and started helping him take off the 80 pounds of protective gear he still had on. Neville followed Liz and Leo as they slowly and calmly started moving toward the clump of people. Another knot of officers had congregated near where the bag had originally been placed, and were photographing, examining, and generally investigating the hell out of that area, the nearest door into the building, and a nearby payphone. By the time the three non-police had gotten to the bomb expert, all the armor had been put away in the van and the forensics examiners had begun to leave.

"Hey Leo, Liz, person I haven't got a clue about! How's things?" With that the tall man half-ran a few steps and picked up Liz in a bear-hug lifting her off of her feet, not without a good bit of protest on her part. She squealed and started pounding her fists down on his shoulders. Neville knew that she was mostly joking; if she was serious he was sure a lot more damage would be happening.

"Nathan Duggan, meet Neil Langston, and contrariwise I'm sure. When you are done risking your life annoying my sister you might want to shake hands with him, as he will be your contact, and research partner on certain projects in the near future."

Duggan set Liz down and stepped over to Neville, smiling and offering his hand. He was just a bit over six feet fall, lots of red highlights in his hair, hazel eyes, and a pale face with dark framed glasses. Despite having been working with the State Police he didn't have a uniform, but was wearing a blue shirt, Dockers, and the rest of the ensemble of a partially domesticated computer geek working for a conservative employer.

"Nate is mainly the cutting edge for the Massachusetts State Police trying not to be left in the late Twentieth Century by phishers, hackers, worm-miesters, and other sorts of criminals yet to be invented. Having certain talents, and at the instigation of the Powers That Be, he has been educated… only agreeing after so far unfulfilled promises of great rewards… in the gentle art of disarming and disposing of unexploded bombs.

"In order to protect the files of the local Gendarmerie he has complete run of their system, which is why I fall to my knees in front of him and beg him to register a certain object in the firearms files that may not have exactly all the stuffy old paperwork done."

"And I do this because…" Nate drawled out his response, showing more cynicism than his twenty-five years or so should have allowed him to accumulate.

"Because I am going to Britain in a week, where they have the English-subbed complete and uncensored _Lovely Angels: the Heartbreak Arc _on super VHS; a video product that will not hit the local stores for at least two years, if ever," Leo concluded with a fine, upstanding, sincere smile.

"If you have the data, I've got the bytes."

Neville concluded from this that the Men from Cathay conducted their business very much like Wizards did: favor for favor. They agreed to get together in a half-hour at a local diner, and there conclude their meeting for the day.

Later, seated in a corner booth with a vacant one to their rear, the four of them conducted their business. Leo passed over a sheaf of papers which included a bill of sale (forged, but impossible to be proved so), identification numbers, and copies of Leo's documents that swore he was a fully qualified and authenticated member of the Bay Area Detective Agency and entitled to all the rights and privileges (including carrying firearms, if properly registered) of such.

Neville and Nathan were going to be working together on developing new twists on anti-Apporation wards, and if all went well methods of shielding electronics from the inhibiting effects of strong nearby magic. Liz was to be the one handling the administration of their little team, as well as making sure that proper protocols were observed in regard to testing and evaluation of results. After announcing this Leo sat back and had his coffee (good) and apple pie (should have got the cherry), while the others arranged meeting times and locations. As he had expected Liz took to being in charge like a duck to water.

Nate was a laid-back guy, Neville agreeable and infatuated, while Liz had just recently had the opportunity to direct her life in the directions she wanted to go. Running a cutting-edge research project, in addition to finding her current limits as Queen of the Data Stream, would keep her busy doing meaningful work. They would all find the extra pay useful (Nate was looking into buying a small house and turning it into a "smart home"), and it would make sure that Liz and Neville had lots of excuses to get together for 'professional' reasons. It looked like win-win-win from Leo's viewpoint. Add in that it should keep Liz too busy to use spare time to look into what he was going to be doing this summer, and maybe for longer, and another 'win' could probably be added to the situation.

Neville thought he might like Duggan. He was a little loud, had a strange sense of humor (even compared to Muggles in general, or the MFC), and seemed to have an insatiable thirst for very sweetened iced tea. Probably due to getting heated up in all that armor. He could probably be considered as sort of like a Muggle Curse Breaker. Even with his MFC talents (whatever exactly they were) he regularly went into a great deal of danger to protect others; there was no way the pay increase over being a regular "computer geek" could be worth that! Evidently he could Sie (for the MFC it was evidently different from just plain 'seeing') things in odd ways that should be useful in their work. Well, more on that would no doubt come out later. All told, not a bad sort.

Liz had been to a few official meetings, despite still being officially under-age, and listened (unofficially) in on a far larger number. This one was going like it was on greased skids. Leo had set it up, and then pushed the first domino, and all the others just plain _wanted_ to fall in place after that. Later this week it would be her turn. Before going overseas Leo would be getting a neurological workup; she'd pushed Fermi into requiring it. Her poor, innocent, brother had no idea what it was in reality. It was his own fault really. If he persisted in going to the edges all the time someone had to look out for him.


	49. Chapter 49

I do not own, or receive any benefit, from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 49-Synchronisity

Thomas Marvolo Riddle (AKA Lord Voldemort, AKA He-Who-Must-Not-Be Named) looked across the grey and choppy waters of the North Sea, and at the small boat he was expecting to use to cross twenty miles of it. Lucius was calling it an LCM, in his typical smug voiced sycophantic way. He had even Imperiused the five Muggle crew to handle it on the trip to Azkaban Island and back. With a little general spellcraft they would be able to steer it through the shoals and park it for the time it took to clean out the place. The wards on Azkaban were too long set, and too well maintained, to allow them to be broken in the amount of time they would have for a direct assault. A magical attack of any power would bring every Auror and Hit-Wizard in Britain to oppose them. The time for that was soon, but not yet. In any case, many of those they would be rescuing would be in no good shape for a magical transport out. Using simple and low powered magic that would never even set off the wards and detection spells was indicated. Wizarding Britain would have other distractions this evening.

Still, this was more proof of why Malfoy would have to be eliminated, after victory. Until he was supreme, Lord Voldemort would need competent followers; afterwards, such people were really only potential rivals. Voldemort chuckled; he had a pleasant, even if petty, little surprise to give Lucius after this was all over. It would help keep him in his place, as well as showing him, once again, what that place was.

Leo had slipped back into the skin of Otto Hahn with complete ease. He was officially Sirius Black's secretary, in the 'arrange appointments and keep the hoi polloi at bay' definition of the word. Currently, as the sun slowly began to set behind the trees surrounding the Gaunt cottage (perhaps ruins would be a better word), Remus Lupin was setting up the last of the Muggle concealing charms that they would be using while they searched the old place. While Sirius had become adept, and would even probably soon be able to claim the title of Master at actual solid ward and bespelled artifact construction, Remus' skill and deft touch with a wand was still better for the rough-and-ready sort of work that they were going to be doing here. Remus turned, grinned, and gave them a thumbs-up. Leo really couldn't see any difference, but as he didn't want to be insulting he refrained from taking out his pocket Magic Meter and checking that there really was something in place.

Looking around at the traditional blighted trees, dead twigs, and withered grass (when it was summer in soggy old Sussex no less!) Sirius commented that this was an official Spooky Spot, and motioned to Leo to advance and begin the physical examination of the place. Remus and he would continue to cast detection and diagnosis spells as they went forward. They had discussed all this in the local pub when they had arrived earlier in the day at the small and depressing town. Their motto was going to be "Teamwork!" A bit less exciting than the old Marauders' one of "Mischief!" but they had to admit that even on his best day Leo (Otto to Remus) just wasn't Marauder material.

Advancing at a slow walk, Leo scanned the area in front and below him with Sie, stopping every few feet to use Teek to rustle the weeds and tap on the tilting flagstones on the way up to the door. If there were any tripwires, pressure-sensitive booby traps, or hidden pits he was unable to sense or set them off. From ten feet off he rattled the serpent-ornamented door, its frame, and the two steps leading up to it. No explosions, mad elephant attacks, or sudden blotting out of the sun. So far, so good!

Stepping out of the way Leo asked Sirius to "Please blast the door off of its hinges." A powerful blasting spell blew a hole through the wood, and bisected the suspended snake hanging from a nail. As soon as the magic had come close the thing it had suddenly started to strike out at the nearest living body. Now it was in several smoking pieces, quickly Teeked off several dozen yards in different directions.

"Whoever last did their protection charging must have a good bit of power," Remus said. "No one has been up this way for years; at least no-one with a magical signature."

"Someone like Voldie could probably figure out a way to hide his work," Sirius commented. As their recognized ward expert his statements received considerable respect.

Using Teek like a blind man's cane to tap his way inside Leo led them to the center of the entry/living/kitchen/larder room. He motioned them to stay still for a second, used his magic detector in various directions, and then gave them a situation report.

"There are several dozens, if not hundreds, of spikes set up to come out of the walls and ceiling; I don't know what the actuating signal is. They do have something smeared on their tips, but it's really old and dried, might not be effective at all anymore. There's that roll top desk over in the corner, has a lot of magic going on there. Remember, my gadget responds to magic, it doesn't use any, so using detection spells may be a trigger for defenses. Step outside after you get a good look at the place, and figure out a plan, while I do something about the spikes and do some better checking for things in the walls, floor, and ceiling."

The two wizards looked around them, and then left the building for a few moments. They discussed how things would be handled (Remus doing detection, Sirius protection) and listened to the sound of furniture being demolished and wooden things being pounded onto other things. After a few moments the 'all clear' was given and they returned to the building and took up their positions. After Sirius had placed several prepared spell shields in a pattern that would allow them to sweep the room, while being protected from most angles he told Remus to start his work.

Remus launched his first detection spell, one of the Revellio family, at one of the few shelves on the wall that Leo hadn't ripped to pieces and used as one of the dozens of plugs he had hammered into the various surfaces of the room. Instantly a hail of spikes, each with a piece of wood covering its tip, shot out from above, left, right, front, back, and below them. Most of this blind hail naturally missed, but more than a few hit each of the vandals with painful (but not piercing) impact. "Sorry," Leo whispered.

After that the barrage of spikes lifted up and tried to fit themselves back into their launching spots. The wood corking their tips prevented them from fitting back in properly, and in a few moments they began slowly falling back to the ground as the magic that was supposed to reset the trap used up all its power. Remus then went on to probing the next object, then the next, a few giving interesting (and sometimes dangerous) results, if not the object they were looking for. At last the desk was the only thing in the room left.

"Secret drawer, left side toward the back. It has some high power magical tripping mechanism on it, Otto pulls and we two protect," Remus decided. The others nodded.

Leo found the edges of the drawer, grabbed it with Teek and gave a yank. The old and dry wooden drawer didn't pull out; its front ripped off the desk body instead. At that moment beams of violet light speared off of the various pull knobs of the rest of the desk drawers, aimed at each of the men in the center of the room. Leo dropped to the floor, while Remus and Sirius cast the strongest and fastest protective spells they had memorized to cover the gaps in their prepared defenses. From his position on the ground Leo saw a rapidly moving green mist flow out from legs of the desk, moving like thick snakes closing in on their prey. He started to push large volumes of air at them. After being barely able to stop them at first, he was able to hold on until they began to blow back and disperse. He kept up his efforts until the last green-tinged air went out the broken windows behind the desk. Then he gently Teeked an attractive ring, mounted with a large engraved stone, out of the secret compartment.

When he brought it closer to them Leo discovered that it resisted being brought through where Sirius' protections were set up, and had to be threaded in through one of the purposefully left gaps. Sirius examined it, and then let Remus get a closer look.

"There are some legends that Salazar Slytherin had a ring that looked like this. It certainly looks pretty; do you mind me trying it on for a bit? I never have such nice things!"

Leo Teeked it out of Remus' reach, while Sirius grabbed his friend as he lurched toward the ring. After a brief struggle Remus suddenly shook his head, and took a step backward. "I think this may be it," Remus said. Sirius nodded and pulled a heavily warded box from his robes, then captured the object in mid-air, closing the lid.

"Now we go outside and repeat this whole thing, just in case this is a double-layer coffin," Leo said. After a short period of thought the others nodded and they went back outside to their starting places.

A good part of the sports world of Wizarding Britain, as well as the students of Beauxbatons and Hogwarts, were in the stands around the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch. The actual field had been magically expanded, as well as having a shrubbery maze implanted that had grown to a height of twelve feet in three days. Supposedly there were a variety of hazards located in the maze that the contestants would have to deal with as they were encountered, with the Goblet of Fire itself as the ultimate goal: victory to the first to touch it!

There was a large diagrammatic display set off to the side, shielded by spell and viewing angle so that those inside the maze couldn't see it. Once the contestants were inside it would show the actual shape of the maze and its pattern, as well as each of the Champions with a special, individualized, symbol as they moved around and encountered menaces, each with their own special symbol and color. As menaces threatened the Champions a proper symbol would show up. After the fiasco (from the spectator's viewpoint) of the Second Task a Muggleborn Ravenclaw had proposed something like this to Professor Flitwick, who had made enough of a nuisance of himself with the remaining officials that they had finally, in desperation for a quiet evening, let him charm it up.

The Champions were allowed to equip themselves however they liked (except for flying artifacts), use any spell they liked (except for the Unforgivables), and act toward each other however they liked (including magical and physical attacks) in their quest for victory. Exactly how an invitation to murder each other was supposed to improve international relations and build inter-school friendship was something left a bit vague. Oddly enough, except for the Champions themselves, two of the only three others who knew how that was going to happen were up in the stands, holding hands, as the sun set and the breeze began to chill as the shadows came out from the surrounding mountains.

Luna snuggled against Ron, using him as her favorite heat source. Off to the side she saw Julia Rosmerta-Black talking with a friend of Otto's, a thin woman of thirty five or so. The baby was there in a clever child carrier, probably the only one in the world with more protective charms on it than the Hogwarts Express. Aunty Julia was taking notes; evidently the lady next to her was observing something. It was too bad Hermione couldn't be with them; she was making sure that the Medical Tent was staffed by those who actually were supposed to be there. Luna thought that going a bit too far, but she also realized that sometimes going too far was how far you had to go.

One by one the contestants entered the small tent at the entrance to the maze, then one by one walked inside the Task area. Cedric and Harry at the same time, then Fleur a half-minute later, then Viktor. All four Champion symbols were collected right at the beginning of maze, and then set off together in a group. The crowd began murmuring in bewilderment. Ron began to chuckle; he was one of the few who were in the know, and he liked that feeling.

It had been Fleur's idea in the beginning, of course. "Don't split up the Party," she had said. "It always leads to being picked off one-by-one." Viktor, the most experienced in dueling, had been reluctant at first. Then he allowed Ron, as his coach, to stalk him in the Forbidden Forest; the fact that the last Task was going to be a maze had leaked out weeks earlier. Losing to Ron had been acceptable, even though he was younger; Viktor had come to respect his hard training, and his planning ability. Also, there was the Home Court Advantage angle to consider. When Hermione and Luna, separately, had been able to make him sweat he was able to rationalize it that they were both unusually talented witches. When they had taken him out as a team he had had an epiphany; someone was turning this into a survival contest, and there was no reason to think that they would be dueling fairly, one-on-one, if they attacked again. That was when he had started to work with Ron on figuring the best formations for moving through a dense and winding series of obstacles. Now he was taking point in a diamond shaped unit, and was glad that they had all practiced covering each other's flanks.

Phillipus Goyle knew he was camouflaged properly. Before he had slipped into the labyrinth he had put on his best Bedazzling Hex, and as long as he kept his cool and avoided a few simple mistakes he couldn't be told from the hedges behind him. Don't lose concentration, don't move too fast while being looked at, and don't let anyone see your spell leave your wand. Now all he had to do to be completely forgiven by the Dark Lord for his lack of fervor was a simple act of assault on one of the Champions (it really didn't matter which one, but Potter was the preferred target) and set up further confusion here at Hogwarts. In his current state slipping back into the stands where his son was covering for him, with young Crabbe taking Polyjuice to look like him, would be a snap. "Ah, there comes one of the little buggers now!" Goyle thought, and rushing things a little stepped forward and cried out "Imperio! Now I want you-" At that point Goyle noticed two more of the Champions come around the corner, crouching and with wands at the ready.

"What should I do?" Cedric Diggory said cheerfully from where he had been taking the point position for the last hundred yards.

"Stupefy!" Harry Potter said from where he was providing coverage from the rear.

"Serpensortia! Serpensortia! Serpensortia!" Victor Krum said from the right side.

"Expulso! Expulso! Expulso!" Fleur Delacour said from the left side.

Fleur's series of explosions swept the space towards her front. She really didn't see anything more than a shifting pattern in the foliage, but she knew that an enemy had gotten Cedric from that direction and wanted to keep him from getting set for a well aimed spell. The explosions missed the target, but tossed him off of his feet, his hiding spell flickering out as he was thoroughly rattled.

Though they could have found him any way, the sudden appearance of the wizard greatly sped up the approach of the Bulgarian Horned Vipers. If they had been natural beasts they would probably have slithered off into the hedges and counted themselves lucky. Being conjured for a specific purpose they instead went at top speed toward the prone man, and reaching him started to strike.

Phillipus Goyle had never been much of a student of Natural History, or even much of anything, really. One thing he was sure of was that if a snake bit you, you died. As the serpents tried to pierce his robes he decided (to the extent he was thinking at all) to take care of the nearest menace first, and began to launch a series of pointblank severing spells to cut them to pieces. "Diffindo!" Goyle repeated again and again, not noticing in his panic that he was hitting himself at least as much as the snakes.

Fleur summoned the wizard's wand, while Viktor dispelled the snakes. It was only then they noticed the silvery mask on the man, followed by the spreading pool of blood and the severed arm lying by his side. They ran up to the man, just to time to see him convulse and die. "We would have had an hour to bring him to a Healer; the vipers are not that poisonous!" Victor practical screamed in frustration. Fleur put her arm around his shoulders; she understood what he was going through. It was only chance that her spells hadn't hit their attacker, and she knew she would have been rattled if she had been the cause of the man's death.

She led him back to where Harry stood over Cedric, thinking hard. He gave a nod and revived his schoolmate. "Cedric, you were hit with an Imperius Curse. You will continue to act exactly as you would normally in carrying out our plans as you would have if you hadn't been spelled. The only one who will be able to order you around will be you, though you will be reasonable and accept suggestions that are sensible, so we can work as a team."

"Sounds like a plan." Cedric replied.

Viktor went over to the dead man, and searched him, finding a wallet and some papers in his pockets, and took off the mask. No one recognized him. Pocketing the evidence in front of the others Viktor nodded that he was through. They set up their formation again, this time with Fleur on point (they were all impressed by her reflexes when it was for real), and they started moving again.

For a minute or so the large display outside the maze had Cedric's symbol flickering in an odd rhythm, and then it settled down again to its steady glow as the group set off again. A pulsing red spot with the legend "saboteur" next to it appeared, and then faded. Professor Flitwick was very happy that his incapacitation alert was working, as well as being glad that Cedric was evidently not seriously hurt.

As they advanced deeper into the tangle the Champions rotated their positions. Though they took some odd wrong turns, met some menaces and cunning obstructions, things that were meant to be dangerous for a lone and distracted wanderer were exciting but relatively safe problems for fresh (none of them had to deal with each obstacle alone, so they could save their strength) magic users working together. Giant, _really_ Giant, spiders? When four spells hit it making it weigh ten pounds rather than five hundred it just sailed over their heads into another part of the maze entirely when it sprang at them. A humongous Blast-Ended Skrewt attack? Two Weasley's patented Instant Swamps and an odd Freezing Charm proved able to deal with that without really breaking pace.

After less than forty-five minutes of movement they came to the large open area in the center of the maze where the Goblet of Fire stood on a marble pedestal. By this time suspicious of anything that looked too easy the four of them searched the area, and the enclosing green walls, with spells and eyes. When everything looked as clear and safe as they could discover, they went into the square enclosure.

Harry stopped then, and addressed the others: "This is as far as I go. I didn't want to be in this crazy contest, so there's no reason, after bitching about things so much that I get a chance to win it. This way I can give you the starting count for the race. So you three set up, and I'll give you a count; off you go at three!"

Viktor gave a laugh; he had bet some serious money with his friends (before they left) that Harry had been telling the truth about not wanting to be in the Tournament. The cash would be nice; the best part was seeing his judgment vindicated.

Cedric gave a contented nod. Harry had discussed this with him earlier. Sometimes it seemed to him that Harry would have been better off as a Puff, rather than one of fame-seeking Gryffs.

Fleur was startled. She had come to like the boy, even respect him, but this unexpected display meant she would (when she had enough time) have to re-evaluate how she had been thinking about him all along. In any case this was good for her; Potter was likely to be the fastest in the short run to the Cup.

"All right, why don't you get your robes tucked up and get set for the sprint," Harry urged.

"Why don't we all walk up, the four of us, and grab it together? We all worked for it, and it'll be a poke in the eye of whoever has been messing with the whole competition," Cedric countered.

Viktor thought for a moment. He already had more fame than he enjoyed; winning the Triwizard wouldn't help deal with the media vultures and groupies, just make things worse. On the other hand he had never liked losing; he wasn't a great Seeker because he liked being beaten. A joint win was something special though, it would mean that the Team won, and that was always satisfying.

Fleur tried desperately to think. Was a 1/4th victory better than two to one odds against winning? Finally she shrugged. Her name would still be in the record books, it would certainly beat losing, and finally and last… it felt good.

Harry stood there a moment, then grinned, nodded his head, and presented his crooked arm for Fleur to take.

Together they walked to the Cup, and then in rhythm they chanted: "One, two, three!" Their hands reached out simultaneously and grabbed the Cup.

The display outside the maze had faithfully shown each hazard and obstacle dealt with, now it showed the four Champions going to the gleaming icon indicating the Cup. Then all five symbols vanished completely from view. Ron bolted from the stands, trying to get to the entrance of the maze where his friends had just met something completely unexpected. Luna had an easier time following in his wake, until a largish Auror grabbed him just before the entrance, saying, "We're sending a team in, no reason for a nice young lad like you getting yourself involved." Auror Headquarters had already emptied the Ready Room of the Rapid Reaction Team, and now was waking up the rest of the Night Duty crew to send to the school.

In the pub in Little Hangleton, The Riddles End, three outsiders were relaxing over their second glass of ale when through the open windows came distant sounds. To one of them it sounded like gunfire, perhaps a mile off, he looked at a device he had pulled from his tweed jacket pocket. It had a series of little lights on it, all flickering. One of the older men seemed to sniff the air, and a disgusted look spread over his face. The other looked at each of his two companions, back and forth for a few seconds, and then began, "I think we should really…"

"Yes"

"Yes."

They left, leaving enough money to pay for their ale, and a more than generous tip. The barkeep was satisfied. When sounds like that were heard he knew that he'd not be getting many locals coming in for a friendly drink this evening.

It was disturbing how easily the two Muggles used their tools to pry open a thick oak door near the kitchens of the prison. Still, once the door had been forced by merely physical means Voldemort's little party entered the grim building without any of the guards being alerted. The teams of three first checked the mess hall: yes, a good half of the guards were laying there, poisoned. Then on to the dormitory, for a few sleeping fools to die. The Death Eaters, in full regalia, then swept and down the corridors, freeing the useful (political or criminal) and ignoring the useless, even their comrades from the old days. Bella Lestrange was found in one of the "good" sections of the prison, where the Dementors rarely visited. She was in surprisingly healthy condition, and took a wand that had come from a deceased guard to help with the liberations. Her husband and brother-in-law were in the 'barely worthwhile' category, but Her Lord had decided to reward those who were, after all, his most loyal servants.

Fifty three passengers rode the boat back to the mainland. Behind it a long rope angled up into the air; attached were an uncounted number of Dementors who now followed the One who had taken the emblems of their control. Those living, except for the boat crew and two others, were sent by Portkey to a prepared hostel on the grounds of Malfoy Manor. Healing and de-lousing potions awaited them, as well as clean clothing, baths and food.

The Dread Lord pushed the boat away from the dock. It would drift out into the sea until it sank. "That's ten thousand Galleons shot." Lucius Malfoy thought to himself. Then at a command a half dozen Dementors were ordered to dispatch the Muggle crew. "We must leave no loose ends, Lucius," Voldemort said, as Malfoy saw his carefully picked bunch of men destroyed.


	50. Chapter 50

I do not own, or receive any benefits from the Harry Potter Properties

Out of the West

Chapter 50- The Tightening Gyre

Thorfinn Rowle cast a Tempus spell. 9:45 PM it was; at least an hour too early for any of the potential victims to show up for their painful demise. The information they had gotten from their Ministry agent had been that it would take at least two and a half hours to clear the maze, and the Champions had only been let in something over half an hour ago. He glanced around at the other Death Eaters lounging about and chatting with each other. In another half hour or so they would get in position around the Portkey arrival point to greet their surprised, and temporary, guest. Then, say, a half hour to have fun, and then take the body somewhere it would be sure to be found and make the morning edition of the _Prophet_. He hoped the French bint would be the winner; more fun to be had with a pretty girl, after all.

Meanwhile, it was a chance to renew old acquaintances, have a bit of a nosh, and wet the whistle before the show began. A few were taking a bit of a lie down, all-in-all as peaceful and quiet a scene as you could imagine for a landscape filled with over thirty men and women dedicated to murder and enslavement. Their surprise when the Portkey arrival point suddenly was filled hours too early by four people, rather than one startled traveler, was total. There is no-one quite as confused as a would-be ambusher who is ambushed themselves. If their early visitors hadn't been totally surprised also things would have turned into a violent farce, but the Tournament contestants took a few seconds themselves to get their heads around what was going on.

As the Death Eaters started to jump around and all yell at the same time, like a Goblin Fire-Drill, an English voice ranged out from near the Cup: "Hit the dirt, fire to my front, Cedric protect the rear!"

The few Death Eaters who had managed to pull themselves together in time for a quick attack were suddenly firing over the heads of their prone targets. A high pitched voice began shouting out: "Expulso, Expulso, Expulso!" as purple bolts of magic swept out at waist height from prone figures. One of them cost Travers his left hand as he reflexively tried to swat the spell rushing toward his chest. His screams of pain did little to improve the morale or organization of his friends.

One of the masked men felt his wand leave his loose grip, and then saw four young athletes jump to their feet and rush him. He barely avoided getting trampled, and being wandless decided that he had no place on this battlefield, and began a brisk trot in a basically North by Northwest direction.

The four Champions broke through the loose gaggle of Death Eaters and began to dodge their way through a graveyard filled with old leaning stones and weathered monuments. Behind them their enemies began to organize themselves, only to have their grouping suddenly dissolve again as they discovered that Bulgarian Horned Vipers made a decent substitute for mobile landmines. While the snakes were being taken care of the distance between the two groups grew, the students slowed their pace so that they wouldn't get winded, and began to take stock and make plans.

* * *

As they passed their auto Leo reached in through the window and grabbed his shoulder bag. In it he had the bare necessities of life: flares, inflammable gases, a medical kit, a folding Glock entrenching tool with razor-sharp edges, a bag of marbles, a powerful electric torch, and an apple (for a balanced diet). The sounds of distant violence were now matched by flickering lights becoming visible as the dusk slid into proper night. They maintained a stiff trot. Remus had some of the unmatchable vigor of a werewolf even in his human state, while Sirius and Leo were both in more than decent shape.

Leo drew his pistol (again he regretted not having gotten around to naming it) and chambered a round. Moving at a trot he was able to push his Sie out to his front about twenty yards, so as they entered into a clearing in the light woods he was the first to notice the two bodies lying quietly on the ground. He called out to alert his teammates, and he stood guard while they approached the bodies.

"Deader, someone blew his hand off. Good piece of work, he's got a Death Eater's mask hanging from his belt," Sirius remarked.

"Mask here too, breathing heavy, strong scent of snake. If we hurry we might be able get this one to a Med wizard in time to save them."

Sirius and Leo turned their heads to Remus, incredulity written large on their faces. Off to their front there was a sudden burst of sound, and flickering lights.

"On to the sound of the guns?" offered Leo.

"Wands," corrected Sirius.

"Whatever."

Remus squashed his normal compassion and followed the others as they increased speed to where someone else was already engaged in fighting Death Eaters. Behind them Felice Denoys slowly felt herself breathing slower and slower, until she passed out, and died.

They quickly came up to the edge of battle. In front of them was a line of robed figures, their silvery masks taking on brief glints of colored light as various spells shot out of their wands. There were several small patches of fire scattered around near them, and a patch perhaps forty yards away. Sirius and Remus lifted up their wands to begin their part of the battle. Leo called out lowly: "Start from the middle, work right." Then he sprinted to the right end of the Death Eater skirmish line, passing behind the backs of those who were due for a surprise. As he ran he shifted his pistol to his left hand, and reached to the small of his back to draw a hunting knife with a six inch blade.

Evidently Sirius and Remus had been watching him; as he drew the edge across the throat of the kneeling figure at the line's far end he heard their voices starting to call out the spells they began to cast. This drew the attention of those nearby, letting him reach the next Death Eater. As that one was standing it was easier to just punch the blade into his back four or five times before letting him drop.

The grunt of pain was enough to alert the next wizard in the line, five yards away. As he lifted his wand at the new target he felt his wand hand knocked aside by some unseen force, just before the running figure ran into him and jammed the knife into and through his breastbone.

Leo felt the blade get caught in bone and let go of the hilt. He dropped and rolled to his left, and came up on one knee with the pistol back in his right hand and braced with his left. He aimed two feet below the shiny mask of the nearest and rattled off two shots. The wizard took a few staggering steps backward and dropped. Leo flattened and rolled four feet to the right, coming up to a braced, prone position for firing. It seemed every metal covered face in sight was looking back at him.

* * *

Harry Potter looked quickly around the small depression in the ground that was the temporary, and perhaps terminal, refuge of the Triwizard Champions. Cedric was finishing tying off a bandage made of a ripped portion of robe around Viktor's leg. His injury had slowed them down a bit, especially as he had become weaker due to blood loss. It probably didn't matter that much, though. Trying to fight four to thirty was too heavy odds, even in their athletic shape. Their physical and magical efforts were bound to wear them down faster than their enemies.

The Death Eaters seemed to have gotten reinforcements, there was a burst of yelling and there seemed to be an increase in the number of flashes from spells going on by the enemy group. Then Harry heard a sound like the one he had heard the last summer at Otto's place, but deeper and more powerful. Some poor Muggle must have gotten himself involved in the affairs of Wizards; Harry hoped that he wouldn't suffer long.

The shots seemed to come in sets of twos, off on the left. Oddly, the whole left of the Death Eater firing line seemed to have stopped casting spells at the students. It was probably too good to be true that some of the criminals had given up, but it at least allowed the tired Champions to concentrate their efforts on a smaller section. Then the gunfire stopped. Poor bastard must have run out of luck.

Suddenly the whole sky was illuminated by a searing bright blue-white light coming from a spot several hundred feet up in the sky, and the sound of a firearm joined back in the increased volume of spells being cast. A line from one of the strategy books Luna had Ron read came to Harry's thoughts. 'In death ground, attack.' Well, this was a close to a killing field as they were going to be seeing today.

"Ced, grab Viktor and go to our left, it seems we have friends there. Fleur and I'll distract our not-so-friends. On the count; one, two, three!"

Harry bolted out, dodging back and forth, casting "Bombarda!" every fourth or fifth step. He wasn't expecting to hit much of anything, but the constant explosions and flashes of light should be distracting as all get out. After a second's hesitation Fleur followed; by now using Expulso had become second nature to her, she just pushed it out at reduced power to save her energy, and dodged in the evasive patterns Ron (after consultation with Viktor) had drilled them in for the last few weeks. Knowing that they had only limited reserves left the two Champions began spending their magic as if they were fresh come to the party.

For the Death Eaters, suddenly faced with their prey turning into their attackers, this was an unpleasant surprise at just the wrong time. They had already lost almost half their number, now it seemed that the arrival of the whole Triwizard group at once had all been part of a trap; now that the reinforcements had arrived the bait group was springing the trap's other jaw.

As these things usually do, the problem started at the rear where people had a little too much time to think, and the best opportunity to escape. One by one those still collected enough to do a proper Apparition began to disappear; those too flustered to properly concentrate tried, Splinching badly. When the disembodied head of Peter Arnow rolled in front of the dithering person to his right it broke the last restraint before full panic set in. Those in the front rank turned and began to run, leading Remus and Sirius to switch to Stunners. One runner went down with a .45 slug through his leg, someone else reached into their robe and grabbed a Portkey, vanishing just before a team-mate could reach him and leave in safety.

When the dust had settled there were three plain surrenders, two stunned, two wounded prisoners, and a solid dozen dead mask wearers. Sirius had a deep bleeding gouge on his left thigh, Remus' face was half covered in second degree burns, and Leo had a dozen small nicks and cuts on this shoulders and legs. Harry was bruised over his entire torso. Viktor would need a serious bit of medical work done on his right leg. Cedric was just banged around a bit, and having no trouble supporting Viktor. Fleur, despite a bleeding cut on her right cheek and being sweat-soaked and smudged, looked like Odin's prettiest (and slimmest) Valkerie.

On seeing who their rescuers were, Harry began to introduce them to his fellow winners of the Tournament. On reaching the shortest of them, Harry was quickly cut off by an American accent saying, "Hi there Harry, bet you didn't expect to see old Otto showing up in the middle of Sussex, did you?" Followed by that person taking a gadget out his coat pocket and going over to despoil and tie up the prisoners. Remus, the least exhausted and injured, took a pain-handling potion and did an Apparition jump to the nearest place he knew that had a good Floo connection to contact the Aurors and a medical team.

Leo (officially Otto) walked back to the group, tucking a wicked bladed knife back behind his back, and handed over a sheet of paper to Sirius.

"Here is a list of the names of those you have secured, Sir. Also, I have taken the liberty to separate out magical items, indicated which one goes with each enemy, and made sure to take their wands, and where appropriate their back-up wands. If you will notice the small pile to the left; those items each seem to be Portkey, according to the prisoner's statements and their uniformity of appearance. Each squad leader had one, the others of the team was dependent on their leader for a safe and secure exit if things turned out poorly. One way to ensure loyalty, if you don't deserve it, I suppose.

"Now, if I may, I would like to go back to our transportation and return the results of our folkloric and antiquing jaunt home to await your proper examination and disposal. I will, of course, prepare my statement for the Aurors and have it properly authenticated and registered. If I may be excused, Sir?"

At Sirius' imperious nod the young man headed off into the dark, back to where an auto had a luggage compartment that was magically protected against spells, curses, and even someone having the _desire _to break in to it or steal the car it belonged to.

Harry wondered what game Sirius and Leo were playing. Hermione had told him about her conclusions, and Leo's taking control of the introductions was proof both that she had been right, and that Leo was still using a nom-de-guerre. Were Sirius and Remus in on it, and what was the 'faithful servant' act supposed to be about tonight? Leo had shown a tendency to play a role just a tad short of parody when they were fooling around last summer; this time it had been a good deal more low-key and believable. Harry looked back to Sirius, who was kneeling down and giving Viktor a blood replenishing potion.

Sirius saw his godson's attention was on him, and showed he had a good idea what the questioning look was about.

"This spring I had a chance to visit the States, checked up on some old friends, saw Annette, and met Cousin Leo. Someday I'd like to introduce him to Remus. Young Hahn was there too, and looking for something to do for a bit, so I hired him as my private secretary. He seems to be taking it a bit too seriously now, but in private he's the same old carefree Otto.

"Now that the family place is finally fixed up right I've been looking for some good antiques to furnish with; something in the Kreacher style, you know. Remus and Otto have been great helps in that."

Harry nodded; this explained almost all he needed to know. The secret letters he had been getting during the year from Sirius and Remus had told his group all about the Horcrux situation, and what had happened to the one Kreacher had been holding at Grimmauld Place. Evidently the three of them were going out and looking for more. Harry was glad that someone, at least, was doing something more than waiting for the next shoe to drop.

Sirius continued: "In fact it was just chance we happened to be in the neighborhood, found a wonderful piece just this afternoon. When we heard the explosions, well, how could we resist joining in?

"And here's Remus, back with a fine collection of Aurors and enough medical types to stifle an epidemic!"


	51. Chapter 51

I do not own, or receive any profit, form the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 51-Survey and Analysis

Lord Voldemort sat on the throne long prepared for him, in the House Nott built (and had kept off the books), and stifled a groan of despair. He had so few competent subordinates, and so many plans! He had needed Malfoy, Crouch, and Nott with him. Surely Rowle should have been able to handle a bunch of school children! Instead, the most brilliant coup in a hundred years had barely allowed him to get ahead on numbers, even if (after they recovered, if they recovered) the quality of his troops would be improved. Yes, yes, the headlines of the break-in were front page, but so was the recovery of the Triwizard Champions; he didn't even have the whole front page to celebrate his power! If Rowle had been alive he would have given him such a Crucio! Now Rowle was undoubtedly getting an autopsy thorough enough that the body wouldn't even be worth using as an Inferi later on. Some days Tom Riddle wondered why he even bothered rising from the grave.

* * *

Leo Green left the little shop in Knockturn Alley with a spring in his step and a false name as his identity. He would have whistled, but after years of being told that when he did so he offended the gods of music, refrained. He heard the little sign in the window of **Paracelsus and Sons: Makers of Fine and Experimental Potions since 1538** flip from "Open" to "Closed" behind him. The hand flipping the sign was that of Osgood Swinton (owner and proprietor) and the store had opened for the first time in 1964, but Leo had checked enough to know that Swinton actually did make Fine and Experimental Potions. It was his dedication to the 'experimental' part that was the reason he was working out of the Alley, and living in a garret room above his shop. In the hidebound wizarding world novelty (except in amusements) was not much desired, and someone who lived to try out new ideas was facing an uphill battle no matter how talented he was.

Before leaving the shop Leo had purchased a good number of normal potions (which Swinton only made to pay the rent), and given him a minor challenge. Dropping off a few vials of (Muggle) controlled substances, a down payment, and a request for a tailor-made potion, five doses. Not a great challenge for Swinton, but far more interesting than tending the shop and making doses of Itch Cream, Anti-Itch Cream, Teething Ointment and the like. In a few days Amph-Boost(1) should be ready, and Leo would get a chance to see if all the clean living he had been doing would really allow him to take the strain.

* * *

At Hogwarts, Greg Goyle sat on his bed and looked at the wall; no windows to stare out of in the Slytherin Dungeon. Dad was dead; that wasn't supposed to happen. There was this great big clever plan (that no one had explained) that needed Vince to take Polyjuice, and then the whole family was going to be good with the Dark Lord again. Now Dad was dead. Greg had asked Draco if this was another thing Potter was to blame for. Draco (very good lately at getting at the facts) had said no, it was suicide. What did Dad have to go kill himself for? Why didn't the world make sense?

Draco Malfoy had followed the Third Challenge easily enough on the display screen. He had been scouting out the contestants and even sent in a report that they had been cooperating, not competing in their training, so he wasn't very surprised to see them working as a group. He had known that Greg's dad had snuck into the maze, though not what his orders where. When the body had been brought out by a team of Aurors, Draco had heard that Goyle had used his own wand to cut off his arm, and bled to death. Now Greg was just sitting there, not even getting packed to go home. Well, how much of a home did he have now? His mother had left years ago, and now his dad... Draco decided he'd help Greg pack, and bring him to Malfoy Manor for the Summer.

The Potter Clique, minus Potter, were all packed and already down at Hogsmead Station. They talked to other early birds, and unconsciously always kept their backs toward either a wall or each other. They had gotten to see the rescued Champions last night, if only for a moment. Harry's brief touch of Hermione's hand would be the last she would have of him until he escaped from Dursleyland at mid-summer. But he was alright. They were all alright; what else mattered?

* * *

At a sprawling hunting lodge, its regular occupants recently evicted after not paying their rent to the Black family for thirty-seven years (after all, their cousin was the rental agent), the battered Champions lounged around and basked in the late June sunshine. Viktor was wondering how long before his leg was well enough for him to rejoin his team; would he miss the next game against Budapest?

Fleur stretched out on a blanket in a modest swimsuit. Being who she was she didn't need to limit herself to wearing some dental floss and three sequins to be admired. Still, it was so relaxing to be among men who knew she was more than just a pretty face. Even at school she had to deal with endless approaches from those she was sure didn't consider her a serious person. Among this company she knew that she had respect for what she was, not just what she looked like.

Cedric was standing near a rose bed, talking with his father. Amos was talking about him joining the Ministry, Control of Magical Creatures Department. Cedric wasn't sure he wanted that; he'd started to think about doing some traveling. He'd overheard Harry's friends, from time to time, talking about America and China and other places. Cho knew some Chinese; wouldn't it be grand to spend some time alone with her in the backcountry, were the real Magical China still was?

Harry, Remus, and Sirius were near each other sprawled in deck chairs, each with a large glass of something in their hands. Remus had been able to give them a fair location for each of the Auror security detail that was guarding the place for the next few days. The nose knows, if the wind shifts a bit. Sirius didn't turn canine to check up on him. He had registered as an Animagus, but didn't want to publicize it; there were so few at any one time that he figured that no one would ever bother to check in at the registry office, and so he'd have an unexpected card to pull out of his sleeve sometime in the future.

Currently, the older wizards were giving the well-wrapped Harry (the bruises covering most of his body needing to be cushioned) a run down on what they had been doing for the last few weeks. Harry noted that Otto (not "Leo") was working as a full partner in all of their preparations and plotting. They had located Horcrux traces in Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, Sussex, and two that seemed to move around. Counting the one they had found the other day and were going to try to destroy later in the week, they thought they might have a line on all of those still left. At the rate they were going Voldemort's back-up plan for immorality could be taken care of before Harry was back at school, with a little luck.

Harry wasn't sure if he was sorry to be missing out of the fun, or glad that he'd finally be missing some of the danger. He was, however, eager to see how they were able to locate the damned things. Remus, falling back into Professor Mode, provided the demonstration.

"After Mr. Black managed to remember enough of his First Year Charms to construct a Peter Pettigrew Compass, he filed the information away in his awesomely empty mind, knowing that sooner or later he would need to locate some clean socks or something.

"On discovering Kreacher's Locket, and hearing about Riddle's Diary, he realized that there was a strong chance that there could be more of the things around. Being the chaotic and destructive fellow that he is, he could imagine no better use of his time than locating some of the most powerful and dangerous mage-craft in the world, and smashing it. Accordingly he called in competent, sane, and adult help," Remus gave a slight cough of modesty here, "for the purposes of actually building a proper location mechanism.

"In the ordinary course of events the many protective spells each of these objects has around it would preclude effective operation of such basic equipment. In fact, it took months of research and experimentation to do the work-arounds. What their creator did not remember was that while the spells he used for guarding them from detection were strong, the spells that were used in their creation… and that which they contained… were stronger still. So it was that a rash, ignorant, and lucky wizard, under the guidance of a wise, mature, and utterly superior…" At this point Sirius began to gag on his drink.

"As I was saying: utterly superior wizard was able to get the thing to work. Having the remains of one that had been emptied gave us the perfect material for construction; it practically wanted to be re-united with bits of the bastard's soul. After some trial and error we were able to lay out a few basic direction lines; once we figured out that there more than one left, and that there were some that moved. A little work with the National Survey maps and we were able to fix locations on three, each one destroyed will make the others that much easier to find. As a side note: you would be astonished how the concept of 'unplotable' has fallen behind modern Muggle surveying methods."

Sirius stood up and pulled the compass out of a pocket, then mentioned Harry to come over to see it in action.

"There's the one in the auto, that way. Hogwarts going north; here, you try it," he said as he handed it to Harry.

Harry opened the case and looked at the needle, then shook his head and turned around. He moved a little, angled himself a bit and frowned. He mumbled something obscene, then finally gave it back to Sirius.

"I think the thing is broken. No matter which way I try it, it doesn't point to any of the places you mention, it just keeps on pointing to me.

"Oh… oooh."

* * *

Author's Notes:

1-Amphetamine Boosted Potion. For when you have the Need for Speed and triple strength. Neuro-function and muscle reaction speed boosted to high levels. There is a stiff metabolic price to be paid afterwards, as well as the chance of damaged joints, muscles, and general bruising by running into the wind at high speeds.


	52. Chapter 52

I do not own, or receive any benefit, from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 52- Affinities and Opposites Attract

Rita Skeeter smiled as flowers suddenly appeared on her desk. The murmur of gossip in the Newsroom was music to her ears. She looked at the flowers, admired them for a moment, savored the rich odors, and then reached out and took the card tucked in among the blooms. She opened it, read the short message inside, and touched the "yes" line. The card disappeared, returning to the sender with her agreement of where and when they would next be meeting. A dreamy look crossed her face; it had been years since she'd had a night like last night, and a morning like this one had been. She should probably feel guilty about robbing the cradle, but anyone who could make her so delightfully tired was too naughty to worry about on grounds of youth. After all, for a witch forty wasn't really old, anyway.

Leo Green smiled as the small card poofed into existence in front of him. He grabbed it before it could hit the ground, and checked inside. Yes! She was going to be available Thursday night. Finally, a chance to spend some time with her just having fun. If she had realized last night that her every thought was examined while she dined, took a romantic walk, talked about how important her job was and how important her contacts were, well… that would probably have put a bit of a strain on their relationship. As it was Marge Quiller (divorced from George, but still using her married name) had been shadowing them, Hiering Skeeter's every thought and taking it all down in shorthand. Names, secret deals that she had heard about and not written on for bribes or leads; all the dirty secrets that a nosy Animagus could dig up would be quietly copied from her memory over the next month or so. Thursday though; that would just be for him to enjoy with her, without any snooping Espers.

* * *

George Quiller sealed the envelope with the reports he'd prepared for their employer, Sirius Black. Ordinarily he wouldn't have agreed to expending so much effort on a non-Emergent problem (and at such low rates!), but he had learned enough about who Black was facing. This 'Voldemort' was going to be a problem if not stopped before he took over magical Britain. Having that many wizards under a killer's control would not be a tolerable situation for AGER in Britain, or Britain in general. Besides, he liked Black. Quiller gave the envelope to the large owl sitting on a perch next to his desk, and watched it fly out of the window at his request to deliver the thing to Sirius Black. Everything lately seemed to him to have taken on a patina of dreams and madness. He grinned at that; he was living the ultimate Cheap High.

As soon as they had gotten their hands on the ring from Sussex they realized that this was another of the little unpleasant surprises Wizards had been giving them lately. Green had told them that there was a bloody curse on the thing, and compulsions built in. The others in the room had looked at the boy (not even nineteen) and were certain that he'd 'gone native' from being with the Funny Hats so much. Except John, of course. He and Green had been beating each other up in regular 'sparring' sessions and had developed a wonderfully abusive friendship. When it had come out of its box and everyone not mentally prepared (Quiller himself having experience with this type of thing) had either acted like they were just sandbagged, or began to desperately scramble to put it on, the story of a curse suddenly made so much more sense.

Now John Quartermain was down in the south of France, where the world's largest solar furnace had an unscheduled test going on to see if it could melt the Gaunt Ring down to a puddle of unmagical slag. There had to be something that would work without having to pay for trans-Atlantic airfare!

Like any really competent executive, Quiller cleared his mind of the old problems and turned to the next item on today's schedule. Marge would be in with the summary of the Skeeter surveillance, first session. They had managed to keep their divorce civil, even avoiding visitation schedule problems. Still, even though the women he was seeing now were younger and often prettier, sometimes when he wanted someone to just to talk to, he missed her beyond all reason. Life marches on, and he had to admit he'd been the guilty one in their breakup; time to suck it up like a man. Though hiding his secret regrets from a talented telepath would be quite a strain on his part.

* * *

Harry Potter held his head and wished for a quick and certain death. It wasn't because of romantic problems. It wasn't (directly) because he had found out two days ago that he was a Horcrux. It wasn't because he was back at the Dursley Penitentiary and Youth in Pain Center. It was that on having found out about his Horcruxdom his Godfather, favorite Professor, and himself had went on an epic bender, and he was just now sobered up enough to be feeling the hangover. He planned on stumbling over to his dresser and knocking back some of the painkiller potions he thought he remembered putting on top of it, as soon as he could persuade himself that he could actually lurch the five feet to it. As a (Joint) Triwizard Champion he was certain he could do it, if only the room wasn't spinning so much. Certainly within a day or two.

Later that day, properly medicated, Harry thought of all the advantages of being a soul-fragment-container for a murderous Dark Lord. He came up pretty blank on that one. It was probable that Voldemort didn't know that Harry was carrying around a fragment of his innermost being. After all, if there was one thing Voldemort was, it was self-serving. Killing Harry would lessen the degree of protection gotten from making multiple Horcruxes, so his regular attempts at Harry-cide must mean that the fact was secret, even from the creator. How that had happened Harry couldn't imagine, but it probably meant that currently only three people knew about the real situation. Which reminded Harry of certain social obligations (if he wanted to continue to have a social life) so he began, with trembling hand, to write a letter to Hermione. If anyone should know about this, it should be her; both for her input on the situation in a magical sense, and for her girlfriend-ly need-to-know. He hoped that she wouldn't just drop him as a hopeless case, too complicated and problem-heavy to bother with.

When Hermione Granger opened the letter from Harry she started reading with anticipation of another of his terse and semi-misleading 'summertime at the Dursley Place' notes. Instead, it started her off laughing at his description of the joys of inebriation, the pangs of the morning after, and pledges to forgo the former to avoid the latter. When he got to the reason for his unusual break from clean living (aside from the contest being over) she immediately began checking for the bus schedules she had gotten last year. Little Whinging wasn't really that hard to get to, if you started out early enough in the day.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore looked from the window of the Headmaster's bedchamber out over the green fields of Hogwarts. Never again, he promised himself. Never again would he pile an insane and crack-brained mass of work upon himself as he had in setting up the Triwizard Tournament. The children, even Harry after he had gotten over the shock, had been delightful and amusing. It had been the adults that had let him down. Karkaroff had been a major disappointment, and Maxime had (more discretely) been little better. The audacity of Tom in ruining the event for everybody was, however, the cruelest cut of all. Had the boy lost all sense of sportsmanship?

* * *

Sirius Black was walking the floor with his colicky daughter. There are some things that magic is not very good for, and dealing with the delicate bodies of infants was one of them. More prosaic methods of calming the suffering child were called for. Chrysi always calmed down when Daddy walked around carrying her, and talking in his low pitched way about how she was the bestest little girl ever. She might not know what the words meant, but the warm vibration of his voice always made her feel safe. Sirius only wished that he knew of a way to make the others he cared for feel that way.

Sirius knew that Harry had taken it hard to learn that he was carrying around… had been practically all his life carrying around… a fragment of the soul of his parents' murderer. That thought had gone round in Harry's mind, faster and faster, until the ordinarily reasonable boy was on the edge of hysteria. It was Remus, as might have been expected, who had managed to break the boy out of his funk. Shoving a glassful of brandy into the boy's hand, and keeping the glass filled as fast as it was emptied, had relaxed Harry considerably. In fact it had led to an absolutely relaxed Harry, singing songs prior to a deep and restorative sleep… or perhaps it was a coma. In any case, when he had woken up Firewhiskey had kept him in a good mood on his trip to the Dursleys for the ward recharging period. Leaving a supply of proper medications for the inevitable 'morning after' had been an act of mercy for the pains that Sirius knew would come after a bender of that caliber.

Hopefully he would be seeing things in proper perspective when he finally came-to the next time. At least there would be none of the 'mushroom' treatment for Harry this year. No more keeping him in the dark and isolated. Sirius knew from his time in Azkaban that treatment like that did not lead to philosophical reflection and character building. It could only lead to anger and madness.

How to actually deal with the Horcrux problem was something that had Julia, Remus, and himself at a loss. Perhaps when Leo was back from his current data gathering assignment he would have some suggestions that made sense. Despite, or perhaps because of, not being magical Leo often seemed to have the knack for asking the naïve question that led to an unexpected answer. Yes, when Leo showed up his odd viewpoint on the problem would be of great help. There was a head that didn't get all dizzy with emotion!

* * *

Kato Aimi's petition to be fertilized by a specimen from the diplomatic gift from AGER was approved on July 1, 1994. Her therapy was progressing well, and while she might not be able to emotionally endure a marriage for some years, she was obviously physically healthy enough for childbearing. As she was now in the optimum fertility years it was thought wise to let her start a family without any more wasted time. The realities of political pull being what they were, she had her choice of which of the donors she wanted to be used. Mother and Father were pleased at who she had picked, as well.

* * *

John Quartermain was hand-carrying the bad news back from France. The solar furnace at Odeillo hadn't been able destroy the damn ring. Add_ that_ to the number of things that couldn't. An armour-piercing charge had just knocked a dent in the thing. Cutting torches that wouldn't notice a battleship in their way had just splashed off. The hope was that the effect of pure sunlight would be able to do something that mere impact or temperature couldn't. After all, that lightening thing down in Florida had fried one of these things. Now he'd have to probably be the one to carry it down to the Sunshine State and make sure that its powers of seduction didn't make someone walk off with it. Though Quartermain had noticed, after he'd taken the ring out of the target area, that the whisper in the mind trying to make him put it on hadn't seemed to be there. Whether it was just stunned or had been knocked off completely he couldn't tell, and he was not fool enough to try it on 'just to see.'

According to what he had been told, these types of things were built up on tough bases, and then had layers of protection put on top. If the temperature of 3,500 F. hadn't damaged the basic ring, it still might have wrecked some of the protections put on later. Still, Mrs. Smithers hadn't raised a fool when she had taken in her orphaned nephew. If he'd managed to be firm-willed enough to keep a marriage ring off of his hand, a ring that he had been told was cursed (by someone he respected) wasn't going to be going on it. It was just… he hated Florida; he always stayed too long on the beach and got terrible sunburn!


	53. Chapter 53

I do not own, or receive any profit, from the Harry Potter Properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 53- Unthinkable Problems Produce Improbable Solutions.

When Otto Hahn (played by Leo Green) left Rita Skeeter's apartment early on Friday morning he had no notion that he was going to condemn a person, a friend, to death. For his own good.

Leo continued to use the outer persona of Otto Hahn for the completely valid of reason of avoiding blowback. If worse came to worse, when Otto Hahn paid the full price it would stop there. Since only a few people here knew his real name the risk of his family being dragged into the violence was minimized. Now, more than ever, he kept his priorities straight: Humanity in a general sense, his family and friends, then the Esper community. Individuals outside of that were due civil treatment, but he wasn't really excited about them, except in a sort of abstract, law-observing sort of way. He had his favorites among the less privileged classifications, of course, and his definition of 'family' included people like the Blacks and not his own father. Still, he had looked into the Abyss, and it had made him eager.

He took the Underground to the undistinguished office building near a park that AGER in Britain was using as a temporary headquarters for Operation Funny Hats. MI5 was picking up the tab, and thinking it was well worth it. The Emergents that worked for the agency were doling out information that they had accumulated over the last few months on various topics of interest. With their unsuspected Talents they had built up quite a backlog of stuff to give their employer, and were easily able to keep up with the minimum needed to keep the government happy. If they had turned over everything they could find out as quickly as it could be transcribed, the entire government might end up overloaded and come to a halt.

Leo didn't get any good news when he checked in with George Quiller, mid-range civil servant and very much top-grade AGER executive. Quartermain had sent a message that they would have to use the lightning research facility again to destroy the ring, full report to follow.

Quiller was not terribly happy that Leo was conducting an affair with an information source; Sure, talking to her, even screwing her silly in the line of duty was fine. Actually being _involved_ with her was unacceptable! One of the reasons that Rita and he had gone to her place this time was that in all of Esper Britain, he was probably the only person who could actually get through magical privacy wards unaided. Which meant that when he was off duty they would be spending a lot of time in Wizarding Britain without having to wonder if any of his private foibles would end up as water cooler fodder at AGER headquarters the next day. Meanwhile, Leo just turned his bland face on, and Quiller slowly wound down. He was far too experienced a campaigner to waste energy on trying to control the libido of a teenager. Leo respected him even more for his realism.

After reassuring Quiller that his pillow talk… while frequently pornographic… never brought up the possibility that there were other sorts of people than Muggles and Wizards in the world, and that while on duty she certainly tried to pump him of spicy details of the Rosmerta-Black marriage, both of them had better things to do when they were in the privacy of her bedchamber. He didn't tell his Mission Leader that Rita couldn't help being endlessly inquisitive (she had become a reporter to have a justification for what would have otherwise been an obsession anyway) but was easily distractible by certain easily arranged intimacies. He still checked himself for tracking spells, and to see if he had any insect freeloaders hitching a ride whenever he left her though.

* * *

Leo spent too much of the day ferrying people around. He had driven to Privet Drive to pick up Harry for a conference at Grimmauld Place. On getting a phone call from the Dursleys he had to go back a half hour later to pick up Hermione Granger who had shown up there, unannounced, to comfort her boyfriend. At least that time he could use Sirius' motorcycle, a completely sweet machine. Vernon was home, and while a bit nervous about the attention the machine attracted ("Never rode one myself, too flashy by half!") he still evidently admired it, and gave it a surreptitious rub when he thought no one was looking. Leo realized that he would have to return everyone back to their respective sleeping addresses at the end of the meeting. Unless he could get Sirius to drop Hermione off. _That_ would probably make her parents' day, having their daughter show up at their door and hopping off a honking big-bad motorbike driven by an excessively handsome older man in a leather jacket. Probably giving him a goodbye kiss before she made her way to the front door as well. She _was_ an affectionate girl.

The meeting, consisting of Sirius, Rosmerta, Remus, and Harry, hadn't progressed much from when it had started after Leo had dropped Harry off earlier. Everyone was going around in circles, unable to get past the fact that Harry's life was a guarantee of Voldemort's continued existence. Hermione didn't help matters much; as soon as she saw Harry she proceeded to throw so much support and affection his way that he had trouble breathing, much less thinking creatively.

Leo walked out back to the garden. The greenhouse backing on the house had not been restored, and now the area near the building was all flower beds, the back part of the yard still having the trees and open area (for Chrysi to play in when she got older) with a pleasant gazebo added with encircling benches. Leo sat down on one, and watched mental pattern after mental pattern try to formulate, and fail. Voldemort's death and Harry's living were incompatible. There was something there, Leo felt, if he could only break out of his mental box. Getting rid of the Horcrux would almost undoubtedly kill Harry, and not the best wizardry could, in a real sense, bring back the dead. Wizardry… wizardry. That was the problem of course. He was looking at the situation the wrong way. He got up and walked back to the house, surprised at how much the sun had shifted since he first gone outside.

Nothing new seemed to have developed in the hours he had been outside. Well, Ron Weasley was there looking confused, angry, and frustrated that he couldn't come up with a plan to save his best friend. Leo decided to see if he had finally able to properly use his Teek to magnify his voice; he'd been working on it, a bit, but it still wasn't really right yet.

"We kill Harry! The answer is simple, we just have to kill Harry!"

No, there was much too much treble still. It _did_ get everyone's attention though, and several 'if looks could kill' glares.

At a more normal volume Leo continued, "I never said it had to be permanent."

Hermione's eyes suddenly widened. Her parents might have their practice in dentistry, but there had always been plenty of scientific and medical journals and books around the house.

"He's too old," she said.

"It's worth consulting some experts. I expect a thirty second flat-line shouldn't be too hard to work up. I know someone who's in the business from another angle, I'll get her opinion."

"The being dead business?" Harry asked.

"Getting hearts beating and brains working business, among others. She might not know anything useful, but she's completely reliable. You've got to see her work someday."

As the noise level rose up again Leo went back out to the garden. As the others followed him out, and kept up the volume, he walked up a tree for about ten yards when he got there. Julia and Remus were struck quiet by that, and it spread, even to those that had seen that sort of behavior before. Satisfied that things were finally under control, Leo finished his thinking for the day, out loud… very loud.

"By tomorrow I'll have a message out to the person I have to contact, and also some conventional, meaning Muggle, medical opinions. If things go well everything could be done in a week. Nobody not here should be informed, except Luna. One look at your face, Ron, and she'd pull at least half of what's going on out of whatever well of wisdom she frequents anyway. Remus; Tonks works for the government, and though she's loyal, she has no poker face or lying ability at all. Sorry.

"Ice cream run, anyone?" Leo knew of some very good places for ice cream in the area, he'd never adjusted to what the Brits called pizza.

* * *

Gregory Goyle was adjusting well to Malfoy Manor, now that Draco had cut him down. Greg had been smart enough to tell the House-elf not to interfere with his suicide attempt, but hadn't realized that Master Draco was approachable enough for the staff that they weren't afraid to inform him that his guest was about to be injured. Well, the Goyles hadn't been able to afford an Elf, and how to order them around properly _was_ almost an art. Draco sometimes wondered why his father, so admirable in so many ways, had never figured out the reason that Mother always got the best service in the house out of them; reasonable requests and simple politeness.

It hadn't been a gesture. It had been a serious 'goodbye cruel world' attempt and no kidding. As he had been pulling the noose off Greg's throat Draco had said that he understood his friend's motivation, but that it would be very poor manners to off himself while a guest, unworthy of a fine Pure Blood family. Gregg had understood that; now Draco just hoped that his spirits would lift enough that there wouldn't be another rope in the Goyle future as soon as the summer was over.

Father's lack of sympathy and useful advice disturbed Draco in an obscure but persistent way. It simply wasn't the way the Code that Father had insisted that Draco should live by as a Malfoy said things should be done with a family supporter in trouble. Was that Code wrong, or was Father failing at it himself? The latter possibility had too many implications to ignore.

Narcissa Malfoy never learned about the incident; the House-Elves decided not to inform her, but she extended a cool yet obvious kindness to young Goyle. Between Draco keeping him busy with remedial study, and Narcissa making sure he attended both the family dinners and the social season's events, Greg seemed to come to grips with his loneliness and despair. If his eagerness to join the Death Eaters on graduation seemed a bit less evident, neither Draco nor Narcissa showed any obvious disapproval, and Lucius was very often absent.

* * *

Kato Daisuke had passed on to Miura Chuko a request from Leo Green that she examine certain information relating to a medical problem complicated by a spiritual pollution. It was amusing to her that Uncle was Japanese, went to temples at all the right holidays and occasions, and still in some basic way did not believe in the spiritual world. While Leo, who was seemingly an invincible materialist, had no trouble accepting that she could see things of an entirely different order than anything he could perceive. It was probably because Leo was such a realist; while Uncle Daisuke was (for all his subtlety and experience) still an idealist in love with the thought that all the world should make sense.

When the file was brought up to the temple by express courier the next day it presented her with a situation new to her experience, and almost unique to the records of a temple that went back untold hundreds of years. Possession by a ghost or a demon, if not common, was at least something she had some experience dealing with. A fragment of a soul being parasitical to an unpossessed person, and being used as an anchor to prevent a life following the proper cycle of existence, was something for the books she would write and leave for the next generation to study.

As she studied the material more and more she came to the conclusion that there was simply not enough information to make a proper decision. Add that to the fact she was a priestess sworn to aid the innocent and afflicted, that she was a scholar that had an obligation to further the study of soul/body interaction, and that she believed that buddies should help out their buddies, she could come to only one conclusion. Road trip!


	54. Chapter 54

I do not own, or receive any profit, from the Harry Potter Properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 54- Love Is The Art Of The Impossible.

There he was, standing near the Customs line exit. He was holding up a cardboard sign, like all the other chauffeurs trying to attract the attention of jet lagged first class passengers stumbling off of an intercontinental flight. His was, of course, unique. It wasn't _just_ that it was in kanji (1); the kanji themselves were written in an archaic style. If she wasn't used to reading dusty writings from the temple archives that were hundreds of years old she wouldn't have understood the thing at all:

**This insignificant one**

**Only exists to offer his services**

**To the Maiden and Owner of the**

**World Renowned Shinseisaru Temple**

**She, the most beautiful and wonderful**

**Damn, I'm running out of room!**

He took the small bag out of her hands (all the rest of her baggage had been sent ahead by air-freight), and ushered her to the Executive Parking Area where an upscale sedan was waiting. Seeing a security camera scanning the area she grabbed him as he opened the car door, and pulled his face down to her seated level, and gave him a peck on the lips. Then she released him to let him get in the other side and get behind the wheel.

"So, Leo, you think that your sister was watching from the camera in the lot?"

"If not right now, she'll review the tapes when she gets a chance. I wouldn't suggest going after her boyfriend though; _that_ would be war! Nice kid; a wizard.

"I hope you liked the sign, I know someone at Oxford who wrote it up. Still don't know much Japanese, hope it's not _too_ obscene, had to take what she wrote on faith."

Miura paused for a moment in thought, glancing out of the window to nod with approval. At least in Britain they drove on the _proper _side of the road, not like the other 95% (or maybe it was 99%, she forgot) of the world. She was glad her friend seemed to be doing well, but was more than a little jealous of his sister. Whenever she got the rare day that she wasn't tied up on temple or other business, and got into town for a holiday the same thing always seemed to happen: A cluster of boys collected around the small, cute girl and tried to get her soused and in a frisky mood. She liked the odd cup of sake, and being frisky wasn't something she looked down on, but she really wanted to get to know who she was with before she made up her mind about such things. Maybe she was spoiled; though the Personage she had concluded the Arrangement with hadn't been exactly a dream-date, he had been patient with her inexperience, kind and understanding. Now she was always looking for those qualities in a boyfriend, along with a cute face and killer body.

"Kato Ami applied for Artificial Insem. She got your specimen; it was the one she had asked for. It took, you mighty Stag of the Mountains! You might be asked for another set; you seem to work very well, and are in demand."

She noticed he didn't seem as pleased with the information as she thought he would be; many men would have been all puffed up to know their sperm was in demand, even if they weren't delivering it in person. It seemed he preferred certain things done with the personal touch.

He gave her a small, quick, smile, apologizing for being so quiet a host, "I like Ami; being related even a little to the Kato family is an honor. It just is a little… odd to think of this actually happening."

His voice took on a slightly harsh tone, "Do you know the natural birthrate of Emergents? The expected lifespan?"

She shook her head, what did that have to do with Ami? "No, there are more every year of us, right?"

"About half replacement rate with natural methods, and about fifty-five years if there are no accidents. Normals not using contraception and with the same quality of medicine can quadruple our rate, live to their late '70's. Wizards reach one-twenty, pretty often.

"I don't wonder I'm a big hit at the Sperm Bank; I'm prime breeding stock. My mother had three live births; would have had more if Father hadn't been spending three quarters of his time in other women's beds. According to the statistics my morbid curiosity dug up I'm about twice as likely to get a hit as the average Emergent. I've already had to contribute two extra times to the Bank; once was for the sample AGER sent to Japan. I wonder: how much am I worth, per cubic centimeter?

"We don't live as long. Maybe you being Japanese you'll buck the trend. Whatever genetic kink that gives us our Talents, kills us young. Achilles' Choice (2), but we never got to choose. We've started a study, got a lot of governments to fund it, to study what we are; Human Genome Project. Maybe when we have all our genes mapped we'll be able to figure out what's wrong, why we die young."

He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke next there was a placating note in his voice.

"Sorry, Princess, sorry. I shouldn't hit you with my midnight thoughts when the sun is shining. Should know better, did this to Liz once, I know it's not fair, I just get affected by things, sometimes. Ami… I really know how to kill a conversation, huh?"

Miura reached over and gave his arm a gentle squeeze. They drove the rest of the way in silence.

After they parked at Grimmauld Place Leo led her by the arm up the steps of the Muggle-warded house. She had never actually gone to any of the magical areas (as opposed to spiritually dangerous or powerful) of Japan. Being led up invisible stairs she wondered if outsiders would see her ascending into the air, or just disappearing as she went into the field. It took all her willpower to avoid wrenching her arm out of his (3), and hurtling off to shop, or check into a hotel, or see the zoo. Once inside the door her urge to flee departed, and as she calmed down she admired the elegant, wood-paneled foyer.

Leo led her out through the kitchen, where he dropped off her bag, and then into the back garden where there was a knot of people in and around a gazebo, mostly with drinks of some sort in their hands. Heads turned when the people noticed that Otto (he had told her that was his current nom de guerre) brought over the newest guest. Sirius, Remus, Harry, and Ron looked with sincere admiration. Julia, Chrysi, and Marge Quiller pushed forward to shake hands and kiss cheeks, Chrysi, of course, still in her mother's arms. Luna swayed on her feet. Hermione lifted her hand and pointed, yelling, "You!"

"Itachiko! (4)" Miura Chuko shouted.

"The Monkey! The Monkey!" Hermione Granger continued.

"Huh?" Harry Potter said.

* * *

Hermione was led off by Harry to sit down under a shady tree. As he went to get her something to drink… something illegally alcoholic… she tried to sort out her confusion at being subject to psychic double-vision. Miss Miura was undoubtedly a very attractive, short, young oriental woman dressed in the international youth-traveling fashion of jeans, walkers, and a shirt under a denim jacket. She was also, simultaneously, a silky-furred Monkey, dressed in gorgeous patterned robes, carrying a staff and with a tail; a tail! For a Muggle-born Hermione was skilled in dealing with the little surprises the Wizarding World would throw her way from time to time, but not this one. Especially when everyone else (except Luna, and after all Luna was always likely to be an exception) saw only the mundane Miss Miura. Whatever had knocked Luna silly, Miss Miura had evidently been able to tone it down, and all the other females had drifted off, talking cheerfully, toward the kitchen. The baby was riding on Miss Miura's shoulders, laughing. Otto (she had to remember to call him that, whenever she slipped he gave her such a sad and disappointed glance) was evidently doing some sort of verbal damage-control over with the men near the gazebo.

Whatever Miss Miura had said it surely meant that she had recognized Hermione, also. Accentuate the positive: that meant that at least the others should see that Hermione wasn't just having a breakdown of any sort, or was being racialist or anything. After all, the Monkey had helped save Neville's life. After that how could anyone (not a Death Eater, of course) be anything but a welcome guest? Miss Miura was here to help Harry; that meant that in particular _Hermione_ would obviously be massively cordial and welcoming. Unless some of Annette's little hints about the oriental girl being a shameless flirt were true, and even if that was the case Hermione would _still_ have welcomed her. Better a healthy Harry in someone else's arms, than a Harry condemned to carrying Voldemort around with him wherever he went!

By the time Hermione had gotten that far in her calculations Harry had gotten back, with a glass of an amber-brown fluid. Before he could get a warning out she had grabbed the glass and knocked it back in three gulps. No matter what the boys thought, when the girls were alone in their dorms they did more than work on each other's hair or discuss homework, even Hermione. In order to ensure that they were not taken advantage of by some slick seducer (take that, Blaise Zabini!) offering them some strong drink that they weren't used to; several bottles of fire-whiskey (often not premium brands) had been consumed by the end of their third year. In the interest of virtue and research only, of course! This was mellower stuff than she was used to, and went down easy. Well, when the person selecting your booze ran a tavern you might expect that!

"Harry, when I took that prophecy potion she was the monkey I saw in the vision. Except she was a monkey then, and looked different than out here, where we're not in a vision…"

"Honey, Otto said that you might be having a spiritual experience, or something. And that we shouldn't worry, because Miura was _happy _to see you. If something bad was going on she'd have done something religious, or… something." Harry's voice had trailed off a bit, right there at the end.

"She's a pretty little thing, isn't she? Annette always said how pretty she was, a little princess and all… and pretty." Hermione's voice trailed off into a indecisive silence.

Harry was astute enough to know what Hermione was going on about, and quick witted enough to know what to do about it. "Well, little. Yes, little." He kept his eyes carefully above her chest level. No point in having her get the wrong idea.

Hermione saw Harry's eyes gently look into hers. She realized the self control necessary not to shift his gaze, and loved him for it. They moved into each other's arms in a single, rhythmic motion.

* * *

Several hours later, after everything had been explained three ways, Luna understood why she had been blinded, Hermione knew both that Harry wasn't going to be fooling around and why Miura had called her a weasel (5), Sirius Black was walking back and forth out in the yard with Leo Green, and attempting to fulfill the role of loco parentis, as he understood it.

Glancing around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear them, Sirius began, "Leo, as your employer-" Leo snorted right then; he'd even paid his own airfare to come over, and he was used to working for more than a hearty breakfast and the occasional supper.

"Employer of record then, and leader of our little group, and an older and wiser head, and I promised your sister to look after you, I feel that I have the right to ask. Why _Rita Skeeter_?

"I understand that a young man might have… urges. I understand that in a lot of ways you've been living a life outside of parental control, and your father may not have been a very good influence on you anyway. Still, you must see that that woman can in no way be suitable for you. That she may have certain… physical attractions for the less selective, I can understand that. I know that you've recently had a break-up, and that can cause rebound behavior, hooking up. Still, I know you well enough to know you're better than this!"

Leo leaned against a tree, to brace himself until the laughter abated. Finally quiet he put his arm out, grasped Sirius' shoulder and said with a voice so sincere that his sincerity had to be deeply questioned: "Nice rack, natural blond, ready to romp.

"She's smart, if a bit catty, and fun to talk with. She knows everyone worth knowing in the Wizarding world, and has some scandalous story about each of them. Some of the stories are even true. She likes me, is embarrassed about me, and still wants me. She knows when to be quiet. She's _fun_, and even if it's a bit of a stretch, imagine that I'd like to be off-duty sometimes with someone who isn't involved in our little quest to kill the unkillable.

"She's impossible for me. She's twice my age, not from 'Cathay,' addicted to gossip mongering, and if she belongs to any political persuasion it's certainly not one _I'd _be joining. My superiors are having a quiet coronary for all these reasons, and more. In other words, she's perfect."

"It sounds like she's an absolute disaster for you, absent the rack, of course," Sirius spluttered.

"… Natural blonde?" he questioned.

"Which is why she's so perfect. I can enjoy being with her, without danger of falling in love, or forced into a commitment. She can have a wild time without regretting anything, or getting too attached. I'm just as impossible for her as she is for me. She sees me as practically a Squib, charmingly naïve and a bit gauche, a trifle light in the pocket, and way too young for her to think of settling down with. So, perfect for her also, when I slide out of her life into the wilderness of America. Yes, natural."

"That is such a cynical and exploitive, if cunning, attitude."

"Said by the man that was in bed with the barmaid within twenty four hours of getting into Hogsmeade not too long ago."

"Hey, I married her. And she owns the bar!"

"And a lucky man you are indeed."

* * *

Until this _Thing_ he carried was dealt with Harry couldn't join in the hunt for the rest of Voldemort's soul anchors. Now that he knew what he was, a lifeline for his parents' killer, Harry became eager for the "Procedure" Otto had proposed to take place. Once he was clean things would be somehow better. He didn't try to figure out if he had ever been influenced by the soul fragment, or if there had ever been a serpent's voice whispering in his mind trying to make him take a bad course. Harry just knew that he shuddered every time he saw himself in the mirror now. He had seen Riddle's soul take shape, stealing life from Ginny Weasley. How close had the one in him come to stealing all his futures?

Harry wanted to be happy and with a family like Sirius. He hoped it would be with Hermione, but realized that time is long, and longer still when you're a teenager. Still, the last few years had taught him something his years at the Dursleys had completely avoided.

He wanted to love. He wanted to be loved. He wanted to be worthy of love, and would do whatever it took, accept any level of risk, for that.

He had looked at Death and Evil, and still managed to place one foot in front of the other and keep to his path. Now he was surrounded by life, strength, caring, and he wanted to make it a knife to cut away all that stood in the way of him claiming his own life on his own terms. It might be a short one, but as much as anyone could chart their own course Harry Potter was ready to give it a try.

* * *

Malfoy Manor was not a happy place. Elegant and well designed, landscaped to a fare-thee-well, but never cheerful, and now it was positively grumpy. This was due to a number of things, but for Narcissa Malfoy it was especially about Bella.

Bella had come through Azkaban surprisingly well, and avoided confiding with her own sister on the reasons for her immunity to the worst place on earth (except for Cleveland {6}). She was hiding something, something horrible. But that was not the worst of it. Bella gave every indication that she was trying to seduce Draco.

The Lestrange brothers, and Bella's marriage to Rodolphus, had always seemed a little… odd. Now that they were in the East Wing recuperating from their ordeal they seemed to have carried it even further. Long ago Rodolphus had insisted that Rabastan come on the Honeymoon. When the three had come back (much earlier than planned) both of the brothers had immediately checked into St. Mungo's, and Bella's wedding euphoria had turned into a dull rage. She had gotten very political after that; displaced energy, no doubt. From the outside, at least, it had never looked like a happy marriage.

Narcissa, despite being an aristocrat among Pure Bloods, had very mundane desires for Draco. She wanted him to meet a nice Witch (she'd be pretty enough if Draco liked her), and have a happy wedded life. One less lonely than Narcissa's own.

She would have accepted, without joy, if Draco had proven his father's son and abused Muggles for his gratification; thankfully he had shown no inclinations in that direction. Narcissa had never imagined (especially since she had written off Bella as an absence from the family's life after her conviction) her own sister, marvelously well preserved, flirting, teasing, and engaging in single entendres with a boy below the age of majority; her own nephew. It was also obvious from blushes his fair skin couldn't hide, and other physically observed phenomena, that Draco was not unaffected by Bella's actions.

It's very difficult to warn your own, beloved, sister off of your son when she is a far more powerful witch than you are, and an accomplished, even joyful, murderess.

The fact that Narcissa had to take care of, and conceal from the Authorities, a good two dozen fugitives in poor health didn't faze her in the least. That's the kind of thing a Lady of the Manor took in stride, and did with style. Poor Greg Goyle did give her concern though, he was still (properly!) mourning his dead father so very deeply.

Bellatrix Lestrange was walking briskly toward her rooms, and a hot bath. That was one of the things she had missed the most, in Azkaban, hot baths. Even Simmons hadn't been able to figure out a discrete way for her to get them regularly. Simmons. At least he had left her on the "special treatment" list when he had retired as Chief Warder of the prison. If she found him, when she found him, there would be "special treatment" enough to go round, then. After he talked, after she knew where he had hidden her. Her real name was Lyra, no matter what false one he had given her.

Until Bellatrix could find him and squeeze out the truth she had to train to get back to fighting form, so that the revolution and reform could triumph. Then her Dread Lord would give her permission, and assistants, to find Simmons. And Lyra. Meanwhile, it was enough to prepare, and amuse herself in little ways. Draco. Narcissa and Draco.

Sometimes she was a little ashamed of herself, really. Narcissa actually _did_ love her (not like Andy, marrying a mudblood to spite their parents) and it was cruel to tease her so. But after all, wasn't it all in fun, and all in the family too? Wouldn't little Draco really benefit from learning all about life from an aunt who could fulfill the roles of Wicked Governess and knowledgeable Older Lover both? She could teach him so many things that girls his age had never experienced, or should. He looked so much like Lucius, but without the pettiness in his father's personality He would be so _delicious!_

It was interesting for Draco to have so many injured warriors in the house, recovering from their imprisonment. Their stories of battle weren't disturbing so much as their after-battle stories were. Draco was certain he could give, or take, injuries without flinching; torturing the prisoners afterwards was harder for him to deal with. Just kill them, and be done with it, seemed cleaner somehow. Sure, do what was needed to get information, but afterwards getting your jollies off by… kill them and be done with it!

Draco wished Aunt Bella would stop being such a cock-tease and realize that guys his age got an erection at sharpening a quill; a woman exposing her cleavage wasn't necessary. If only she was doing this with Greg he could have forgiven her; the boy needed some cheering up. Why wouldn't she take the hint that Draco wasn't interested in females that acted like public accommodations. His brief stint dating Pansy, and finding out not just her reputation (he'd have stood by her in the face of a mere lie) but her actual availability to the general public had cured him of being led around by his lust.

Aunt Bella and her husband (and Rabastan) seemed to be a good bit more than the dignified "estranged" of polite society. There must be a lot of bad history there; Draco wondered if it was one side's fault, or the other side's, or even if it mattered anymore. It was just a complete and total domestic disaster that he was in danger of being sucked into. Draco had never wished more for the start of the school term, and relative safety, than he did this summer.

**Author's Notes:**

1-One of the several mixed systems of writing used in Japan. Based on the Han Chinese it is the oldest and most traditional, though not easiest. Currently elements of it are considered too esoteric for use by most people.

2-Achilles' Choice was to live either a long and quiet life, or a short one of immortal glory. His name is still known over three thousand years later.

3-One of Miura's Talents is a form of Teek localized in her own body. It also reinforces her bones and joints. Essentially she could win the Olympic Weight Lifting title for the Men's 94 Kilo (207 lb) class. Her own body weight is a solid 85 lbs (42.5 kilos). Her height is 4'10", her build is slender.

4-"Weasel-girl!"

5- Japan has no Mongooses, and certainly no Meerkats. When Miura saw Hermione in the vision she saw her as the closest creature to one of her experience.

6-The Cleveland Hellmouth, of course.


	55. Chapter 55

I do not own, or receive any benefit of the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 55- Clutch the Nettle Firmly

Harry Potter looked around him at the assembled experts. Two Healers, with a table laid out with assorted instruments of healing and revival, all looking intimidating. A Muggle Cardiologist with a fearsome looking machine, labels all over it saying it was pretty much too dangerous to come near, much less use. Seated on a large, flat, cushion on the floor there was a young woman wearing a flowing silk robe with a riot of crimson and green swirling leaves printed on it. Her face was calm, and a mask of serene beauty, one a juvenile Oriental goddess wouldn't be too proud to wear. On a chair in the corner of the room sat Leo Green, his face expressing a polite boredom with the whole situation, trying to imagine how he would apologize to whoever you were supposed to apologize to for screwing up things this big, if everything went wrong. He was watching the assembled medical staff. If one had been gotten to, they wouldn't leave the room living.

The others were in different rooms of the large house, one never before used by either Wizards or Men from Cathay. Everything was clean; in the security as well as the medical sense. Only Luna was serene, her presence calming down Ron and Hermione. In an odd way Chrysi being fussy was doing the same for Sirius, Julia, Remus, and Tonks.

Miura had said that the best way was to be bold. Take fate by the throat and attack his enemy directly. Harry picked up the syringe awkwardly; he had never done anything like this before. He was glad his hand didn't shake as he pushed the needle into his arm and injected the poison.

* * *

Neville looked at the pile of sawdust and sliced circles of wood at Nate's feet, and the still roaring chainsaw in the man's hand. One hand only, with a supporting glove-like bracer added, and the Featherweight Charm still operating. Started right up despite the high magical ambience of the Langston (Longbottom) residence. Still roaring after every transmutation spell and jinx that Neville could look up had been cast at it.

They had gotten a little sidetracked on their research project after Neville had seen a Muggle film on the telly at a schoolmate's house: _**Army of Darkness**_**. **Hence the chainsaw; after Neville had finished describing the plot to Nathan they had agreed that basic research is hardly ever wasted, and that a chainsaw would be easier to get and test things on than a 'boomstick.'

Inspired by Mr. Weasley's flying auto, Neville had spent more time researching and studying over the summer than he had ever done during the school year. Learning spells, then layering them with attention to odd interactions, and finally putting a shell of protective runes on the central guide bar and engine casing. In less than two months he had developed a technique for making a chainsaw (or any similar sized and natured Muggle artifact) safe from weak hexes and charms. More importantly they would be immune to the general ambient magical atmosphere that built up around Wizarding businesses and homes. Until the spells ran down someone would have to actually _do _something to make it stop working, or transform it into something useless. Neville was bursting with pride; there weren't many Fourth Years he knew that could have done it. Harry certainly had the power and to spare for it, and Hermione would have done the research better probably, but doing it all had been his own special work. The dogged modifications and endless tinkering with the spells; that took creativity and Neville was surprised that he had discovered it in himself.

Sure, the protections needed to be energized by an initiator spell, and wouldn't last for more than a few minutes, but for the Mark One version it was surprisingly good work. Grandmother had said so, and she was so unflinchingly honest about his flaws that he knew she wasn't just being kind. Later this week he would be doing some work on preparing for the Mark Two, with improved durability and spell resistance. He had used his Salem Academy credentials as a visiting scholar to get into the Select Stacks at nearby Miskatonic University. Even looking like a mid-teen he had been far from the oddest person (?) he had seen wandering the dim rows of books and study carrels at that famed institution. One of the works he had seen (and made a surreptitious copy of) had even, on the table of contents, said that the book contained the secret reason why Goblins said that they only rented, never sold their magical artifacts. If he had some spare time tonight that should be interesting reading.

Meanwhile, Nate and he had to get cleaned up, and take Grandmother out to dinner to celebrate today's success. Tomorrow, when Liz came over for a day at the beach with him at Winter Island, there would be another celebration. Afterwards, when he would be walking her back to the train station, he would kiss her in front of Grandmother. Then throw himself in front of any spells if Grandmother decided to be awkward about things.

* * *

The Order of the Phoenix was in a tizzy. Harry Potter was once again not to be found. Certainly he had cleared a few days absence with his Muggle relatives, to be made up later. Where those few days were to be spent hadn't been specified. The boy had slipped past his watchers at 4 Privet Drive and gotten into Central London on some Muggle contraption and completely disappeared. Every tracing spell on him had evidently been detected and dispelled, invisible watchers (or at least the one they had on duty) evaded and ditched. Now Black and Lupin had also dropped out of sight. Headmaster Dumbledore wondered if they all had decided to flee like that craven Longbottom boy, leaving the forces of Light in the lurch. It would be just like that jailbird Black to do something like that. Dumbledore wondered if he should have been listening to Minerva's insistence for the last year that he had been underestimating Black and his friends. Ha! As if that perpetual adolescent and his Squib cronies were of any consequence.

Arthur Weasley watched all the running around with feigned confusion. He didn't know where, exactly, Ron was. But he did know it was wherever Harry was. Something big was going on, and Ron was in on it. Arthur wished he could tell Dumbledore, but he had promised his son not to let anyone else know. If he broke that promise not only was there a chance that Ron would never forgive him, there was a good chance that he would never forgive himself. Arthur kept all that private, not even telling Molly. There was no sense in setting himself up for a hostile interrogation by both his friends and wife.

Molly was calling around to witches she knew to ask if they knew where Ron was; a ploy to try to track Potter. Ever since Ginny had decided that Potter really wasn't interested in her the silly girl had been going around with a totally unsuitable young fellow up at school, and owling him daily since the holiday had started. The Thomas boy didn't have anything particularly wrong about him, of course. It was just he wasn't famous, rich, a known hero, Triwizard Champion, and the person Ginny (almost as much as Molly) had wanted to bring into the family since Ginny's early childhood.

Minerva McGonagall left the Order meeting in the early afternoon. She had some Muggleborn Orientation sessions to do, and frankly couldn't see anything positive come about from more going over the same ground endlessly. Lately, she had been starting to wonder if being the greatest Wizard of the current century was quite the same thing as being the wisest judge, most effective school administrator, or even just the most cunning general. Albus had the habit of wanting people to let him in on all of their secrets, and telling them none of his own… even vital ones… to them. She never really knew if anything she had told him was seriously being considered. Especially advice. Albus was noticeably eager to give advice to others, and take none himself. He had hinted, broadly enough, that he knew things about Potter and Voldemort that were essential to the fight, but had let none of even his most loyal followers in on it. Without information like that how could they help him?

She had known that Voldemort was back since Quirrell had failed at getting the Philosopher's Stone. But every bit of useful information she had gotten since then had been from indirect means, or from talking with the students who had been meeting (and fighting) the Dark Lord's agents. Now they were definitely working on their own, mostly because they weren't willing to become Albus' minions. She really couldn't blame them. It was a frustrating experience, and one she wouldn't have gotten involved in if she hadn't been a member of the Order in the first War.

* * *

Albert Fermi looked at the report displayed on the computer terminal and realized he should have had it compiled and sent as "hard copy only." There was no way that an electronic carbon hadn't already been made and diverted to some secret cache that Liz Green would check on, sooner or later. The idiot doctors had even managed to append on it half the things the Leo had gotten him to agree suppressing about the Mexican operation. It was only partially the result of AGER really being too small, with too few competent workers directly involved. His fault, Fermi had to admit. He had been sloppy, and stupid. The Green kids were both playing him, again. Like they used to do back when Liz was in school with Luci (and her only friend) and Leo used to babysit them on sleepovers. This time they were on opposite ends of things, but each still managing to get their way.

The reports he had been getting from Quiller were convincing enough; there was no way he could pull Leo off his mission. Half preemptive strike against a mad wizard's coup, half diplomacy with a faction of the legitimate Wizarding society. Not that there was much that could be done about anything anyway. Leo's neuro-functions were getting increasingly erratic; he was subverting his psychological tests more and more. It wasn't like Thomas Green's sociopathic slide; once he had come under proper investigation Tom's basic criminality had become breathtakingly obvious. Leo was weirder; he was pretending to be more normally selfish than he was. Idealists were dangerous, and had to be controlled strictly. Fermi knew that, he was one himself. Add Leo's dangerous virtues to his mutating nervous system and the best course of action would be… what? Kill him? Mind-wipe him because it was uncertain what he might eventually become? While we have them all under control; do it to DeMarco's team also? They showed some of the same indicators, just less active, and at a lower level.

Albert Fermi closed the file and put a reminder on it to check again in three months. Maybe things would have solved themselves by then; he might be dead, Leo might be dead, and maybe the horse would sing (1).

* * *

Draco Malfoy was practically quivering with eagerness. It had just been announced at the meeting. This was going to be a maximum effort, even the newest recruits would be going .

He was finally going on a mission. Not just any mission, but the biggest one to date. He was going as just an ordinary soldier of the Dark Lord, he hadn't been given the Dark Mark or anything, but he was going! Greg and Vince would be with him. Of course he wouldn't be given even the smallest amount of official authority, but he knew that after all these years they would follow his orders unofficially, anyway. Most of all, they would watch each other's backs.

That was very unlike how the Lestrange's would do things. Draco wouldn't be surprised if one or more of them would end up a victim of… "friendly fire" was the Muggle term, wasn't it? At least he'd been able to dodge Aunt Bella's attempts at… seduction? Keeping closer to Greg than was comfortable for either of them had managed to shake her off for the last few weeks. Once Greg had figured out why Draco was practically living in his pocket it had lifted his morale no end. Partially because it was so funny and partially because he could see that he was really helping someone in a difficult time. Being useful helped him deal with his own pain. That was good for Draco to know. One day he planned to be a real leader; everyone knew that giving favors made people dependent on you. Now Draco knew that accepting help from people could put them in your camp also. Father should have told him that.

Not that Father was saying much of anything lately. Between meetings at other houses, playing courtier to the Lord, and dodging Aunt Bella's barbed tongue and occasional malicious spells, Father was spending very little of his time around the Manor or with his son. Mother had blossomed; all the problems of an overfull house of semi-invalids were referred to her, and dealt with quickly and thoroughly. She was still embarrassing of course. Acting like he was still a child, insisting he keep up with his social occasions and ceremonies, generally acting so _motherly_! She had even made the robe he would be wearing on the mission with a lining that looked like an outer robe of a different color. As if he would follow her advice and ditch the mask and turn his robe inside out if things went poorly! She had even made similar ones for Greg and Vince. Well, _they_ certainly might need something like that; it was awfully nice of Mother to think of them.

After the meeting Greg and Vince Flooed over to the Parkinsons; Pansy had arranged to be the centerpiece of an evening's entertainment. Draco begged off, the other boys understood the awkwardness involved; after all the two of them had been an item once, and broken up spectacularly.

As he turned away from the fireplace, after seeing them off, Draco immediately bumped into his aunt.

"Ah, my dear, dear Draco, you actually _don't_ have a 'very special relationship' with that grotesque Goyle boy! I had almost given up hope for you," Bella said as she quickly gathered him to her low cut bodice. She stroked his silver hair with one hand, while the other held him firmly. "Such a great step you'll be making in just a few days, Draco. I think I'll be very nice to you now, nephew, if you'll promise to be _very nice to me_," Bellatrix practically cooed out her message.

His head pillowed against her chest, smelling her perfume, Draco tried very hard to come up with a reason why he shouldn't be very nice to her. Very soon he would be in Diagon Alley imposing the will of the Dark Lord on the weak and traitorous. Certainly he deserved a taste of real living before that?

* * *

It was a picture of almost cloying domesticity. Harry Potter was sitting in a large wicker chair on a patio looking out over a lawn with his feet up, enjoying the setting sun. Curled up at his side was Hermione Granger, her head resting on his arm. Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood, and Julia Rosmerta-Black were tossing a frisbee around on the lawn, while Chrysi alternately played with a circle of flowers her mother had made for her and clapped her hands when she saw how much fun the Big People were having.

Miura Chuko (now dressed for the informal Twentieth Century) was walking among the nearby trees with Sirius Black and Leo Green giving post operative directions for Potter.

"Keep him away from any place with aggressive ghosts or spirits for at least a week! No going on religious voyages to any but the most benign spiritual destinations. And the protections I wrote on him will fade naturally within the next few days; don't try to magic them off before that. They're waterproof, so he can bathe though."

Sirius gave the others his part of the briefing on the operation's aftermath. "The Muggle heart-doctor has been paid and Obliviated, and brought back to his clinic. The Healers have both taken their Wizard's Oaths. Quiller tells me that they'll never use this house again for anything important, and everything will be cleared out by tomorrow afternoon." At this point Sirius looked at Leo, with a questioning look on his face: "They said that when the spell was broken a green, blobby thing came out of Harry. Miura chased it all around the room with her paper whips, until it zoomed into you. After a moment it came out again, screaming. And then it fell apart. What gives?"

"It was trying to find someone to carry it around that wasn't protected in some way or other. All part of the Princesses' job; I told you she was the best at that. When it went into me it… found something it didn't like, and left. Without a body to sustain it, it just came apart. Nothing too strange at all about that."

When Leo stopped talking Sirius looked at him for a second, then picked up his end of the conversation again. "I don't see why it would pop out screaming unless the first thing it found was your sense of humor, Merlin knows I've suffered from that from time to time. Still, they said when it left you it looked like it was torn half to pieces. The worst of your stories haven't ever done that to me, before."

"Well, if you insist then, Sirius. One day a Priest, a Rabbi and a Zwiltig went into a bar…"

Author's Notes:

Referencing an old tale that says sometimes problems can be evaded or made irrelevant by events, and sometimes may resolve themselves.


	56. Chapter 56

I do not own, or receive any benefit, from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 56- Perversions of Nature

Augusta Longbottom (she always had trouble remembering the fake name she had to use for her "cover") was once again disturbed by things that made her happy. After the Attack, when for all real purposes Frank and Alice had died, all she had really cared about that was left was Neville. He was always worrisome; a perpetual disappointment and he was everything she had left of happiness. She frankly had been surprised that he had been invited to attend Hogwarts, and the reports the school had sent back the first year had seemed to confirm her worst expectations about him. Then, term by term, year by year, he had slowly and steadily improved. He had made friends among the best (in her opinion) of the members of his class. Longbottoms had the gift of it, whether Wizard or Squib or Muggle. They found the best among those around them, and made them close as family.

She had thought Frank had made a mistake, getting so close years ago with Sirius Black; now she knew better. She had been quite content that Neville had never bought into the"Blood Purity" nonsense and ignored the hints and offerings of recruitment that she knew were flying around the Wizarding community in Britain. Poor Millie Bulstrode (stuck in Slytherin) was dancing around trying to avoid joining the Junior Death Eaters while still not being made a pariah. Neville had had it easier, getting into Gryffindor, and meeting up with Potter and the Weasleys so soon.

But meeting up with Potter had meant meeting up with Black. That had led to her completely proper offer of aid in hosting the wedding when the Black place was damaged. And meeting up with Black had meant meeting up with the Greens and their like. Dangerous people for an impressionable young man (Augusta admitted to herself that Neville was no longer just a boy) to get to know. Elizabeth was sweet, pretty enough in her too-slender way, had a dangerous mind, and unnatural abilities.

To avoid attracting notice when they had moved in, Augusta had kept the house connected to the local Electric Utility. The drain had been tiny and the cost insignificant. With all the magic Neville and Augusta did around the house none of the Muggle things there should ever have worked and none did ordinarily. But when Elizabeth was helping in the kitchen (a job she was always cheerfully volunteering for) the lights lit, the blender blended, and all the little gadgets that had been left in the house from the previous (Muggle) residents worked as designed. When Elizabeth wanted to listen to music, the Muggle wireless worked, and the music player. She even had a 'puter thing that she carried around that would work when she wanted it to. The magical field around the house was strong enough that some of the more sophisticated automobiles that drove by in the street outside would sometimes sputter and threatens to stall out, but she and that nice young Duggan man seemed to cause the very laws of Magical and Muggle nature to just give up and go away!

In the end, though, that wasn't really the problem. Augusta, almost as much as Algie, had always been happy at finding the loopholes in accepted wisdom and ripping them open just a little bit more. In the end such oddities just made the world a bit more interesting. That the girl was in love with Neville was the problem. Augusta had been in love… had seen Alice look at Frank; she knew all the signs.

Elizabeth adored Neville, confided her heart to him, boosted his confidence and deflated his ego (as needed). He adored it, of course. After so many years of thinking himself inferior, a failure, a Squib, Neville had no possible way to resist the girl. He had really fallen in love with her. It was making him stronger and more purposeful every day. His determination and unexpected talent had gotten him almost to the point Arthur Weasley had needed decades to reach in dealing with mingling Muggle and Magic things. He wasn't discouraged anymore by failures; they were just signposts of what to avoid until he succeeded by a different route. He was growing strong, and he could feel it.

The stronger Neville was the sooner his inevitable return to Britain, and the brewing war that was going to happen. Augusta was so proud of what he was becoming; she was so terrified at what she knew he would soon do.

?

On August 25th, Neville Longbottom went out to the mail box at the corner of the front lawn and emptied it of the usual assortment of Muggle and Magical mail it seemed to generate overnight. An assortment of flyers, bills, a forwarded letter to him from Uncle Algie, and one for Grandmother. There was also the International Edition of **The** **Daily Prophet**; an abbreviated version always coming a day or so after events happened in Britain. Neville usually just brought it in and placed it on the kitchen table for Grandmother to read with her breakfast, but today there was an unusually large-font headline that caught his attention: Death Toll 74 In Diagon Alley Slaughter! The photography accompanying the headline was in the finest tradition of Wizarding photography; the trickles of blood glistened scarlet as they seemed to move down the street and sidewalk toward the sewers. A note at the bottom of the front page indicated the story, and the list of victims, would be on pages 2 and 6 respectively. Letting the rest of the mail fall to the ground he opened the paper to page 6. Forcing himself to read slowly and carefully he started at the top of the page: Toll of Dead and Injured.

Several columns in very dark print, with little signs next to the names to indicate status (dead, hospitalized, walking wounded), went down to the bottom of the page, neatly arranged. Neville noticed several family names he knew, or was related to. He saw no Potters, Weasleys, Lovegoods, Blacks, or Grangers. The only name he saw that he was completely familiar with, that had the small 'x' of mortality marked against it, was that of Otto Hahn.

Not sure what to do, he stood stock still on the front walkway as the wind began to scatter the dropped mail at his feet. He opened the paper to page 2 where a straight news story began, written by Rita Skeeter in an unusually serious and factual manner. It was all there: the sudden appearance of the large group of wizards wearing the garb of Death Eaters ("not confirmed by the Ministry"), the brutal spells cast at the innocent shoppers and shopkeepers, the fire raising, and the spirited resistance by some of the Alley residents; particularly Misters Fortescue and Palmer. That was followed by a short note that a visiting Wizard, a Mr. Otto Hahn, had managed to distract a large number of the assailants for several minutes, injuring some, until a sizeable force of Aurors and Hit Wizards had been assembled and arrived to restore order.

Neville read page 2 several times, then checked again on page 6. He gathered up the rest of the mail before it all blew away, brought it in and placed it on the kitchen table. Grandmother asked why he seemed so preoccupied, but he couldn't think of anything to say and just shrugged and left to go up to his room. He heard her loud shout of "No!" as he went up the stair and got his "bug-out bag" from the closet, and after a moment's thought put several objects he had been working on (currently in a shrunken state) into the duffle bag, and went back down the stairs.

Grandmother was standing there, shaking her head and muttering, "Neville, please not… don't…" He gave her a little smile and said, "Not much choice now, is there? I'll check in with Algie when I get in. Could you let the school know I'll be missing the Term, please?"

Augusta straightened her back, and set her mouth into a firm line: "I shall, and wrap up all our affairs here. If only they had set up the Oceanic Floo Network as your grandfather had recommend back in '53 everything would so much easier now. Well, no use regretting things that are past and gone. I assume you're heading for the airport?"

"Not yet, I have someone to pick up first."

By now Neville had the train schedule to Billerica down by memory. He caught the train with a clean thirty seconds to spare, and got a friendly nod from the conductor who had seen him regularly for the last few months. It seemed strange to him that there were no nagging questions, no indecision left in his mind. When the heart of Wizarding Britain was being attacked he had no business being safe and sitting in a classroom. There were at least sixteen flights out of Logan International Airport to London daily, within three hours he'd be on one of them, probably with company. Too bad Grandfather's Oceanic Floo thingy had never worked out. Still, a half day more-or-less probably wouldn't matter; just enough time to get his plans set in his head.

When he arrived he jogged the mile to Green house, noticing the howling dogs, yowling cats and swirling clouds of birds. If the place was any more rural he'd have expected the cattle to be stampeding. He was red-faced and puffing when he came in through the kitchen door; he'd run the distance before, but never carrying his luggage. Onyx ran down the stairs and leaped onto his chest, trying to lick his face. She was shivering. Neville had never expected to get here before the news arrived, anyway. From upstairs he heard Anna Green alternately screaming at Liz, and yelling at Aaron, telling them to put that stuff right down right now! He went up the steps, nodded to Mrs. Green (who stopped speaking in astonishment) and continued on to Liz's room. She was zipping up her suitcase as he walked in.

She looked at him, took in the duffle over his shoulder, nodded, and pulled the largish suitcase off the bed and began to wheel it into the corridor leading to the stairs. She had somehow grabbed his hand as she had gone by, and they were quickly blocked by Mrs. Green, who was being pressed against the wall by Onyx. The dog had gotten her final growth and was more than big enough. There really wasn't enough room in the passageway for all of this, especially as Aaron piled out of his room, swinging his loaded backpack from his hand. His favorite Louisville Slugger was sticking out from the top of bag. As the yelling began again Neville decided that an approach different from his norm was needed. He yelled: "QUIET!"

Neville was generally very low pitched, quiet. The sudden volume increase got him a few moments to work with. He didn't waste time.

"Ever been overseas, Aaron? Didn't think so. Animals going to Britain are put in quarantine for six weeks before they're allowed in the country. How much good will you do without Onyx and Phil, or your other Friends and Familiars? You know a pick-up bunch won't be nearly as good. Do you have a passport? Didn't think so. You won't get in the country, they'll hold you at the Terminal, and you can bet AGER in Britain won't do anything but hustle you back here. So you stay here and hold the fort."

"I'm so glad you came here, Neville! Now just tell Liz she can't go, so she can give up this crazy idea." Mrs. Green was being optimistic.

Neville turned to his girlfriend. "Do you have your passport on you?" She nodded. "Got enough for a ticket? I'm a bit light right now." She nodded again.

"We'll call when we get in then, Mrs. Green. We'll have to push it to get the train into Boston, so no time for tea today. Bye!" With that he pushed past the woman, Liz still attached to his hand. When they got to the stairs he let go of her, grabbed her luggage with his freed hand, and went down at a fairly reckless clip. When they got out of the house Neville noted that the animal symphony was going on in a slightly lower note. Evidently Aaron was calming down.

Liz commented on the wild and domesticated creatures of Billerica slowly returning to normal.

"If we were back home; real home I mean, Los Alamos, I guess there would be a ton of rattlers in the streets snapping at everything that went by, huh?"

"I'd really never want to get your brother really angry at me in a jungle or anything like that. Deer are bad enough; don't give me any elephants out to trample me."

Liz picked up the pace, she was eager to get to the airport. "Do you know anything about what's going on over there? We just got a phone call that Leo was 'currently not breathing,' as if that wasn't a big problem. Then they rang off. Even Mr. Fermi won't tell me anything more, and there's nothing going out over the wires or anything."

"Death Eaters raided the Alley." He saw her nod. "They started killing everyone in sight, and burning everything they could see. Most people there fled, a few fought back, Otto Hahn got mentioned in particular for distracting the Eaters, he was also listed as being among the dead. However, remember we are talking about **The Daily Prophet**, so things may not be as bleak as we think.

"I'm homesick anyway. Massachusetts is a nice enough place, but I miss my friends. My place is over there."

"But you came to get me."

"Uncle Algie always told me that when you travel you must always remember to take along the essentials of life."

On August 24th, Otto Hahn was escorting Marge Quiller around Diagon Alley, Magical Britain's premier shopping and cultural center. She had never been there before, and was getting a feel for how the Witches and Wizards acted when in public, as well as noting the relative prices of various goods that AGER in Britain was currently getting through several back channels with evidently several extra mark-ups. By herself she would have been nervous, and would have looked obviously out of place. With Otto acting as an emotional sponge for her jitters she seemed to fit right in. All seemed to be serene, and he wondered where they should go for luncheon when he saw a blond figure on the other side of the street moving in their direction, the head pivoting as they were noticed, and Rita Skeeter getting the fixed smile on her face that meant she was going to be out for live meat. Otto suddenly felt that this might not after all end up being a placid but useful day.

Rita Skeeter was absorbed in thought. How would she play the interview with the Bulgarian Trade Delegate in her article? He'd been a gentleman, but the Delegation's terms were definitely stiff ones, and it didn't look like they were kidding around. She actually liked doing hard news; it was just that gossip and just-short-of-slander were so much better paying. Then she saw her Otto, with another woman on his arm. A faint, flame-colored film settled over her mind and vision as her feet, without any decision on her part, turned her toward the pair. Her attack smile settled over her face.

Otto let go of Marge's arm, smiled widely and stepped forward to the rapidly approaching Skeeter. On Death Ground, Attack. Before she had a chance to say anything he had picked her up, twirled her around, and set her back down on the ground with a kiss on the lips. Turning to Marge he continued the Charm Offensive.

"Mrs. Quiller, here's Rita. I've been talking about her all day, and here she is! Rita, meet Marge Quiller. Her husband's a big friend of my dad's boss; I've been showing her around Wizarding Britain. She loves the place; I think a major shopping spree is in the offing. Are you free for lunch, hun?"

Quiller did her best (completely wrong) imitation of a Southwest American accent as she introduced herself to Skeeter. It wouldn't do to mention that she had been following the reporter around (in disguise) for the last several weeks and reading her mind for every nugget of useful information the nosy woman had ever dug up. She thought it was nice that Hahn could think quickly on his feet; she just wished he'd give some advance warning before he created a new persona or past for someone. To be fair, except for the part about still being married to George it was actually true; just very misleading.

Rita Skeeter, never having heard an American accent (except Otto's very mixed one) didn't think to question Quiller's authenticity. Otto had given a very good explanation of the situation. Of course, most of the many adulterers and cheaters she had met were capable of giving an equally good spur-of-the-moment explanation as the one she had just heard. Otto had practically run toward her; was that just his usual impetuous affection, or was it an example of his attitude toward problems? Several times during their dates there had been… situations arising. Otto had a tendency to see these as problems to be vigorously dealt with, and to seize the day (and once someone's throat as a way of doing that). Which way was their meeting going to go? Then she noticed that Otto had stopped talking, and his face had gone perfectly blank. He grabbed each of the women by an arm and dragged them at a run into an alley filled with debris, dust bins, and a hand cart turned on its side.

Several of the stores along the street suddenly had their doors open, and bunches of people were trying to get out into the thoroughfare at once, getting clogged up and stuck. It would have been comical, if they people flowing into the street or getting stuck hadn't been wearing the masks of Death Eaters.


	57. Chapter 57

I do not own, or receive and benefit, from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

Chapter 57- Tanz des Todes

As she was dragged into a place out of the line of sight of the Death Eaters flooding into the streets of Diagon Alley, Rita Skeeter tried to convince herself that she was still asleep, or mad, or anything other than seeing her world come to pieces. She despised the Fudge Administration, of course. Who didn't that had a brain in their head? Still, the idea that all the rumors of a new War starting had been so hard to believe, and too unpleasant to dwell on. Now she looked over her shoulder and saw a woman cut down by a spell in the middle of the road. A life had just been ended in her sight; she could never feel quite as safe again, no matter what the outcome was to be.

Even Otto wasn't the same. He wasn't there anymore, just some hard thing inhabiting his body, talking to that Marge-something woman.

"I will bring them here, and you stay low and read them. Search for the knowledgeable mind, if I can I will lead the conversation. I will get their attention."

Then for a second Skeeter saw her young lover again.

"Morituri te Salutant,"(1) Otto said, smiling, and then doffed his robe, put a few potions in the inner pocket of his tweedy jacket, and without wand or spell began to bound from the wall of one of the buildings that bordered the alley upward toward the wall of the other and back, until by the fourth jump he was on a roof and drawing from somewhere a metal object. Then he was gone, and Skeeter had no choice but to turn to the street and see silver-masked killers casting flame spells at shops and running people. Then she heard the most terrible booming sound, like lightning crashing down, a few hundred feet away.

?

Leo Green had not expected this day to happen, the idea had seemed to be so implicitly stupid that he hadn't considered it as possible. Now he realized he had been thinking about things wrong; when the King is mad, madness is King. He chambered a round in his pistol, and chanted a private mantra: "Middle of Mass." He only had two magazines, not enough for a long engagement. To achieve his goals he would have to go for maximum annoyance, not sure kills. He had never practiced shooting from an angle like this, so he reminded himself to not try anything fancy. As he squeezed the trigger for the first shoot he used Teek to amplify the sound; this wasn't sniping, this was advertising.

It was two shots and move, two shots and move, with too many misses because he was nervous and scared. After each first shot heads would be turned up to the roof lines, and those nearest (even if out of their effective range) began shooting spells up upwards. The second shots were to make sure that he had their attention as he jumped to another roof for a repeat performance. At least while they were looking up they weren't trying to murder any more of the fleeing shoppers and residents of the Alley.

If only he had been better prepared he could have been driving them; instead they would have to be pulled by their desire for revenge, and their wish to look good in the eyes of their superiors. In the back of his mind he was working on a curtain speech; it would have to work or the price would be too high. At least he had pretty well deafened himself; now the shots didn't hurt his ears as much anymore. What had Napoleon said about artillery? It didn't matter now, and there would be no time to look it up anyway. Ok, now he had Plan A; sometimes there wasn't any point with trying to come with a Plan B.

With twenty rounds gone and only a half dozen hit and down (when a .45 hits, there are few trivial wounds) Green saw that he had succeeded in getting a good audience. He knew it was time to bring them back to the starting place. Marge Quiller was a very good Hier; she would have the range to get what she needed. He was certain that none of the Death Eaters would be putting up much of a mental defense by the time he got them there; they would be too fixated on the chase, or just surviving. He Teeked open a hatch on the roof and dropped into a garret bedroom, empty thank goodness; it would have been very hard to try to explain his purpose to a frightened resident right then.

As he went down the stairs to the ground floor he tried to figure out how to handle three things with only two hands, then laughed. Why use hands when you have Telekinesis? For a second he thought of using the Healing Potion he had pulled out of his robe earlier, then rejected the idea. He didn't think he could afford to divert any energy on healing right now. He pulled out one of the Amph-Boost Potions he had had made a few weeks ago; insane speed and strength at the cost of breaking yourself on your body's limits. He had another one on him, as well as some special hot sauce in a potions bottle. Even Mutant Monsters were entitled to their little jokes. He pulled the Hydra's fang on its silver chain out from under his shirt; Liz had one, and Aaron. If he got to where he wanted to, Marge would see how his little experiment would go; it might be useful for them.

When he got to the ground floor shop, he carefully went to the window. All the black-robed, silver-masked Death Eaters were scanning the nearby rooftops. He popped open the potion bottle, held it to his lips by Teek, drew the knife he kept tucked in his boot, and then began to pick out the nearest targets for his last four shots. Leo swallowed the potion, and as he felt it hit his system he fired the last rounds at an increasing rate. He crashed through the shop window as the glass was still falling from the bullets' passages; a few more cuts weren't worth worrying about now. The pistol went back into his shoulder holster as he accelerated and Teeked the knife he kept sheathed behind his back into his hand. The three Death Eaters he had hit were still dropping as he reached another clot of them just starting to lower their eyes to the street level, all in slow motion. And the Dance began.

?

Draco Malfoy was helping Vince Crabbe stand up; Greg Goyle holding him up on the other side. Vince had lost his breakfast, as well as last night's dinner, when he came to someone who had been hit by a spell that forced them to vomit their guts out, literally. Vince had stared for a moment, then he went into an uncontrollable spasm of emptying himself. Honestly, Draco couldn't fault him in the least; it had been a near-run thing for him also. Concentrating on helping Vince not collapse helped a lot; at least he wasn't looking at an emptied corpse. The others, the ones who were cut or blasted, they were bad enough. But everyone had their limits, and Draco realized that now. When he was young and innocent… an hour ago, say… he wouldn't have.

At least the thunder had stopped. Up until a few moments ago there had been repeated, one-two pulses of thunder. Draco doubted anyone on his side was using that spell; anything that loud would have drawn attention, and when he had been at the rehearsals and organization meetings nothing like it had been shown. That meant that whoever had been using it had either run out of magic, or been taken down. Draco himself had been using the special cutting spell his godfather had shown him; it was hardly more expensive in magical force, but was much deeper cutting than the regular spell. He had seen Snape for a moment earlier; shooting out the green Killing Curse like there was no tomorrow, but with fairly poor aim.

Without the thunder the boys heard the screaming; parents mourning their lost children, the foolishly optimistic begging for mercy, and the injured wishing for their pain to stop. What surprised Draco was the number of bodies lying about with their masks on. Some he could recognize; Flint was there, all curled up holding his belly and moaning. Avery, with half his face blasted off. Rabastan was holding Uncle Rodolphus' hands away from his bare face, which had the most disgusting looking boils on it, his eyes squeezed shut by the leaking blisters. Every now and again one of the boys would let loose a spell, not that there was anything there worth hitting, but just to show they were still in the game and not shirking.

Looking up the main street they saw a group of Death Eaters. Even from a distance Draco could recognize his father, and the Dread Lord. There were so many there, it must have been some sort of conference for a change of plans; Greg and Vince followed him as he went to join the others and be brought up to date. They passed a few more bodies, these cut in the belly or across the throat, the scent of blood and spilled guts slowly losing its ability to disgust them. Suddenly, a booming voice made the windows still in place rattle.

"You think to hide from ME? You think to hinder ME? Cut a few of this puppet's strings, I have a myriad others. Do you think to hide your treasures from ME? In what pit or vault will you hide your precious lives, from ME?"

"Not Sonorus, but something like it," Greg ventured. He had the best ear for music among them; more than a decent baritone, too.

An unrobed figure came out from an alleyway, moving in the oddest fashion. As they got closer the boys saw that it wasn't precisely walking so much as floating in a jerky manner, its toes a few inches above the ground, and with one shoulder up and one down like a half-crippled marionette. But there was blood running from its ears and down its face and torn arms. Draco saw his father (the mask distinctive and well known) step between the figure and Voldemort, shouting out, "Don't let him come closer! I know who-"

At which point Voldemort let off a "Crucio!" at the man blocking the approaching puppet.

"You dare to tell your Lord what he must do? Disloyalty like that must be punished!"

Draco recognized Amycus and Alecto Carrow's masks; they were the first to throw Crucios onto Lucius' body twitching on the ground. Meanwhile the puppet came closer, and the Dread Lord took off his mask to reveal himself in all his deformed splendor. He stepped around the twitching Lucius, and after prudently putting up a shield spell, addressed the bleeding man.

"You call yourself Death? I will defeat and evade you forever; I alone will be immortal!"

After a moment Draco heard a croaking voice come from the creature or tool, or whatever it was.

"Poor, poor boy! Every step you take is one closer to Me. There is no hole that you hide in that is not a rehearsal for your grave. There is no barred chamber that can keep ME out. You think breaking this spoiled toy will give you safety; I discard a thousand of these each day. If not the next, the one after will bring you to ME. But how can you know this, you have never paid the proper price for wisdom! I will rectify that now."

With that a curved white thing, perhaps a bone, lifted up from the thing's chest. Draco saw no hand motions; it wasn't even wandless magic. The thing floated for just a second, then faster than a serpent's strike it flew into Voldemort's face, into his left eye.

The body dropped bonelessly, and evidently lifeless. The Dread Lord screamed and pulled something out of his face, and then screamed again, clutching his hand to his ruined eye. Aunt Bella grabbed him, and they both disappeared as she activated a prepared Portkey. At that the others there began to cut out. Draco grabbed one of the leaders (Walden McNair) and pointed his wand at the man's throat.

"We take the others and my Father, or I'll kill you here and now! Greg, Vince, grab my father. This one has a Portkey out, we'll all go together."

The two others were ready enough for that and picked up the dazed elder Malfoy, and then linked up for a shared Portkey voyage out, away to safety.

?

Rita Skeeter peeked out from around the corner of a dustbin and saw the Death Eaters wink out to whatever secret fortress they had their headquarters at. As soon as the last bunch gathered up the one that had been tortured and left, that insane Marge woman ran out into the street and went to Otto's body lying in the street. She poured some potion into his mouth (fat lot of good it would do now), then stepped over a few feet and picked up something that was lying glittering in the road.

"Skeeter, get your skinny arse out here and grab Hahn's feet. We're going to carry him out into London; there still may be hope for him!"

Rita had no intention of doing any such thing. If that Quiller woman had gotten to Otto with some sort of Draught of Living Death perhaps he could be saved, but it would be better if they left him there for the Aurors to ship him to St. Mungo's in any case. Mostly she didn't want to touch Otto; not if he was dead.

Marge Quiller got tired of waiting for Skeeter to make up her mind; time was wasting no matter how good the potion was as an imitation of suspended animation.

"November 12th, 1986, you found out about Nott's bribe to avoid prison, and allowed him to scare you into silence about it. April 14th, 1989, you burned a note that would have cleared Will Treston of a charge that sent him to lockup for two years in the Ministry cells, though I admit you wouldn't have done it if he'd have been going to Azkaban. Just because he jilted a friend. Yes, yes, I do know everything, so get your arse out her and help me get Hahn to the Muggle streets!"

Reluctantly, Rita obeyed. While she carried the body (Otto wasn't really very big, he had just always been so active and lively) she concentrated on his face. Except where there was blood or soot on it, it was very pale, very still. Even as they carried him through the Cauldron no one questioned or tried to stop them, people were moving as if they were in some sort of mental shock.

Once out into the Muggle town they carried him far enough that they were clear of any concealment spells, then put him in a seated position up against a wall. Quiller ran to a public payphone and frantically began to call some number. Rita crouched down and took out a handkerchief. She began to pat at Otto's face, cleaning it up a little, while she whispered to him how she was going to write this story. Somehow it helped a little; almost as if he could answer. Then Quiller came back.

"He goes down as officially dead, remember that. Make sure everyone knows that, and that he wasn't with Them."

"Who are you to tell me what to do, what to write! He's mine, if he can be saved let me take him to St. Mungo's where they can help him. No Muggle medicine can do as well for a Wizard!"

"He's ours. Ours! Not yours, never that. And we're taking him, and you'll say he's dead. And if ten years from now you see him in the street you won't go over to talk to him because he's dead, and you damn sure won't because if you do we'll put John on the case and he doesn't stop 'till you're dead. So shut the hell up!"

Rita thought the woman must be a little hysterical, and decided not to argue with the disturbed person. So she just continued to clean Otto's face, like a mother might clean that of her child, and whisper to him about how this story might really help her career. She knew he'd appreciate that.

?

Bellatrix Lestrange was unhappy, and she didn't know who to make pay for it. She'd been there; Lucius had been _right_! Letting that man… creature… get so close had been a bad decision, a needless risk. She'd even known it at the time, yet there he had gone down, hit with an Unforgiveable. He'd have been abandoned if Draco and his cronies hadn't done something, and that had _also_ been right. But now Narcissa and Draco's wands had been taken, and Lucius was locked in a room on the third floor with a Crucio sent into him every hour, by special command of the Dark Lord. It would be a slower, but still just as sure a road to the same state she had been told the Longbottoms were still in. Merlin knows, except for the money Lucius had been no bargain, but now Rabastan was strutting around saying that the Lord had promised him Narcissa so that the loyal Lestranges' would have a matched set of Blacks for their pleasure and profit. Which meant that little Draco wouldn't be living very long after Lucius was finished, one way or another. Narcissa; stuck with one of Them. Even Andromeda had made a better choice than that! No, not little Cissy. She wasn't going to be stuck with a Lestrange. And also: No, not Draco. Narcissa had done too good a job of raising that little rascal. Bellatrix almost felt like he was her own son, sometimes.

She laughed then. _That _would make her relationship with Draco a bit more risqué! Still, Draco… he was more talented than most realized, and he had other advantages most of her comrades (and the Dread Lord) seemed to lack. He was still sane, for example. Then there was the Malfoy money. It he was quick he might escape alive; if he did that he'd still have all that lovely gold. She was sure that she could get him to promise, perhaps even get an Unbreakable Oath from him, to seek Lyra. After all, it was very difficult to ignore obligations of blood, when you were as Pure Blood as Draco. It was even harder to deny the deepest wishes of the woman you were sleeping with, when she helped you escape with your life.

First a little talk with Cissy; she might not be able to deal with Rabastan in spellcraft, but with her big sister's help she should be able to make some things happen here, in her own home. Then, when everything was set up, they'd get Draco out to safety. And if some male Lestrange was found with a severe case of blood absence? Well, it wasn't as if they were the most popular of people in any case.

Author's Notes:

1-"Morituri…" - We who are about to die salute you.


	58. Chapter 58

I do not own, or receive any profit, from the Harry Potter properties

Out of the West

Chapter 58- Collecting Debts

George Quiller wished that Black would start to take a realistic view of things. They had pulled off the intelligence coup of the century at minimal cost; the seventy-odd that had died in the Alley hadn't included anybody important, just miscellaneous witches and wizards. Only one meaningful asset had been lost (maybe), and even at that there had been over a dozen bodies in silver masks lying around when the Auror force swept in. How many other bodies the Death Eaters had recovered when they left was simply unknown. Added up it was a definite, if unexpected, victory.

Marge had gotten everything important. The locations and identities of the last three Horcruxes, the names of many of Voldemort's influential conspirators, a rough TO&E (1) of the organization, and a damn good lead on who was fouling up the Aurors' efforts to identify and bring in fellow travelers and fifth columnists. If that Dumbledore had half this information even _he'd _probably get off his arse and start doing something! As it was George Quiller had to resist the urge to sing a little song of joy; he had what every professional spy-master dreamed of: all the names and all the connections.

It was a shame about Leo. Still, the boy had been a pro, young as he was. He'd have agreed that the game was worth the candle. Currently he was either dead, or something else. With the proper gear his heart beat and his lungs worked, there just didn't seem to be anyone there right now. Even the best Hier in the business couldn't find any Leo in Leo. Was that because of his Shell, or was his metabolism working strictly as the result of technology? Even use of the anti-psi stuff didn't allow any mind-traces to be located, but as no one could ever figure out how Shell actually worked that might not mean anything at all. Quiller wondered if pulling the plug on the body currently down at Royal London Hospital would be an act of mercy or murder. It would be unwise in any case. Both Fermi and the boy's sister would be unhappy at that. Fermi would be trouble right now. The sister could be handled, currently. In another decade or two it was likely that advances in electronics and cybernetics would make her the most dangerous person on earth; best to keep on her good side then.

It was at this point that the old adage about mentioning the devil proved true; the telephone rang, and when he answered it Quiller was informed that a few names from the watch-list had just come through customs at Heathrow: Annette Hahn was in Britain, along with a Mr. N. Longbottom. George Quiller suddenly felt a good deal less like singing a happy tune.

?

Masatane Tomoko wouldn't have been there if her last job hadn't fallen through completely. It hadn't been her fault, but when the **Kanto Construction and Renovation Company **had gone under amid undeniable charges of corruption it had hit the unsuspecting, usually lower ranked, employees hard. She had just over-extended herself setting up her first apartment, expecting to cover her debts with the bonus the company would have handed out at New Year. As it was her parents couldn't bail her out, and the suggestions from those who had bought her loan from the bank on how she could cover her obligations had been unsavory in the extreme. She was lucky that her mother was very pious, and had some pull with a local religious organization. That had secured her a low paying, but vertical position, at the Shinseisaru Shrine. She'd be able to save enough (food and lodgings were part of the deal) to pay off everything in six or eight months, and not have to get involved in the part of the "entertainment" industry that made extensive use of love hotels.

Meanwhile, as a modern woman fresh out of university, she was doing more than just some light cleaning and guiding visitors along with the other temple ladies; she was observing and taking notes. Soon, she would start to write a series of articles (one of her friends from school was editor of a weekend news magazine put out by a newspaper) that would reveal the sordid truth about one of the most respected temples in Japan. First, though, she had to find some of the sordid. It would have helped if the place was run by some old degenerate priest with a gambling habit or something similar. Instead Shinseisaru's head was a teenage girl, who was depressingly unshocking.

Sure, there would be good visuals from the girl's incredible acrobatics. In fact it was a marvel that the Olympic team hadn't approached her. Unfortunately, she was dutiful about her duties, and even seemed cheerfully sincere in looking into fires at midnight, chasing ghosts with gohei (2), and giving straight-faced "spiritual advice" to selected members of the government and private citizens, prominent or humble. Really, somber government Ministers and military officers listening to a sixteen year old girl; how could anyone take that seriously?

Masatane had to admit all the responsibility and attention hadn't spoiled the child; the few times they had talked the High Priestess had been courteous and friendly. Still, the superstitious farce that was traditional religion would have to be revealed for Truth's sake (and a shortening of her exile out in the dull countryside), despite the embarrassment of certain credulous bigwigs.

Masatane was watering a planter at the top of one of the long ceremonial staircases outside the temple, and gossiping with one of the older, long time residents of the temple when Lady Miura walked by with a look of deep depression on her face. The information grapevine in the temple had been buzzing last night about the Lady breaking down in tears at the news that some foreigner friend of hers having been hurt, or killed, or ripped apart by demons (the grapevine was fast; its accuracy was sometimes to be questioned) in some public place in Europe. The girl was still wearing a long face, but she was bearing up well now. She hopped up, and then sat on a stone balustrade ten meters above a flagstone terrace, kicking her feet a little, like any teenage girl should be allowed to on getting such bad news. Then she suddenly called out "Lion!" and pitched forward, not even twisting for one of her incredible landings, but heading for a definite face-into-stone collision.

As she was accelerating toward a cracked skull (at the least), Mirura was suddenly enveloped in a flash of Green that leaped up from the lower level and propelled her back up to and over the balustrade she had left, back onto the wooden deck that surrounded the main level of the Temple. She was laughing, and had her arms and legs curled around something. Her back was suspended a good forearm's length above the nearest support, and she was rubbing her face back and forth like she was playing with some favorite pet.

Masatane Tomoko looked at the balustrade; there was no bungee cord. She looked for some construction crane that might have sneaked onto the grounds over night that could have let down a cable; there was none. She tilted her head to check for some unusually quiet helicopter that… no, not one of those either. She gave a little whimper.

The Lady Miura was now riding on something invisible, her rump over a meter above the ground, her feet still clearly above any surface. The Lady was jabbering away in English, pointing at things with one hand while the other was clutching some unseen… something. Masatane turned to her older, and more seasoned, companion with a questioning look on her face. The woman composed herself, and then commented calmly, "Well, you don't see that every day."

?

Adam Selwyn had come in out of the cold. That was spy talk for cutting out of where he'd been doing his work of funneling information to the Death Eaters; information on what the Ministry of Magic was planning to do. He'd also been feeding Fudge misinformation, and stoking the man's unreasoning paranoia about Dumbledore, Bones, Scrimgeour, and Weasley. Voldemort had judged him more useful than any three assassins, and more perfectly concealed than the contents of a vault at Gringotts. Now the man was shaking from how close the Aurors had been to getting him during their midnight, no-knock raid on his house. "If I hadn't been sleeping in my study that night they'd have got me!"

Voldemort was certain that Fudge could be depended upon to keep things disorganized on his own. But would that be enough? Without someone tipping off informants and deep cover agents of forthcoming raids there was a certainty that some more would be caught, and that was a recipe for the complete unraveling of his network of rallying points and refuges. Not to mention cutting into the revenue stream. It was time that the Malfoy money was free to spread corruption and confusion among his enemies again. It was time for Lucius Malfoy to die. He wasn't much fun now anyway; even when hit by a Crucio he hardly flinched anymore.

Before summoning Rabastan and giving him the long-awaited assignment (he deserved a reward, after all the pain Rodolphus was suffering) the Dark Lord wiped away the oozing pus from where his left eye had been. So far no healing spell or attempt at transplant (Wizard, Squib, and Muggle material had been tried) had been able to take. The quack they had kidnapped from St. Mungo's hadn't even held out much hope for one of the enchanted replacements that some of the Aurors ended up with. He'd had the nerve to say he couldn't do much unless he could examine the object that had made the wound. The unsuccessful search for that among the materials the Aurors had scavenged from the battle site had probably been what had given Selwyn away, Voldemort thought. Then he turned his mind elsewhere; some very unsettling things had happened that day, and he didn't want to dwell on them. Now was the time to make Mrs. Malfoy a widow, and then a bride again. Say three days for mourning and honeymoon, and the new Mrs. Lestrange would give the key to the Malfoy vaults (held in trust for her underage son) to her new husband (who would move them into the new, larger Lestrange vaults he would arrange for), and pretty Draco could have his accident. Yes, it would be so much better if Bellatrix were to do that. She seemed to have grown fond of him; all the more reason to enforce the most rigid discipline. No one in _his _organization had the right to love anyone but their Dark Lord!

?

Nathan Duggan looked at the sheaf of papers in his hand in bewilderment. While he had always intended to travel someday, getting a paid leave seconded to the JIC (Joint Intelligence Committee) over in Britain was not something he had ever expected. He was, evidently, going to be involved in some sort of cross-training with British security organizations on how to handle various sorts of unexploded munitions. The captain of the Mass. State Police station he was working out of (Miles O'Hara) was proud that one of his staff was getting acknowledgment (even if it was by the damn British), but was sure that by the time Nate was back from the unspecified period of leave the State Police computer systems in most of northern Massachusetts would be in a unusable tangle without the tech support it was used to. O'Hara knew Duggan hadn't sent in any request for such a posting; it would have crossed over his desk. Just another case of those idiots in Boston doing it on their own and running the State into the ground!

For Nate the last week had been one surprise after another. First the Langstons had vanished with a one-line explanation ("Have to go now, will be in touch, Yrs. Neal"), and then when he had tried to get a clarification from Liz Green his telephone call had been answered by a mother enjoying a fit of hysterics. It wasn't until Aaron had got back to him (imagine, getting your information from a nine-year old!) an hour later did he get his facts straight. Leo was deadish; Liz and Neal had gone to Britain to get whoever was responsible. Or at least that was the way Aaron had put it. When Nate had tried to trace things through his AGER contacts it didn't get a whole lot clearer. It wasn't really _his _business, so he had gone back to tracing where a particularly nasty computer worm had come from and then doing his patented style of counter-measures. That meant that First: a certain student in Bulgaria had all of his records erased, and now couldn't prove he even existed. Second: every computer at the University of Sofia was shut down for forty-eight hours, a gentle hint to the local IT department to keep track of what their brighter and less scrupulous juniors were doing.

As the man turned to turn off his computer (he had a plane to catch according to the tickets included in the paperwork he had been handed) a string of garbage symbols wrote themselves across the monitor screen. A very particular string of garbage symbols. Making sure that he wasn't being observed, Nate keyed in the needed reply code, to be answered with a short message in clear.

"You will be picked up at airport customs. Bring the schematics for the 5K FAE gadget, modified for A-H use. Call me Annette Hahn. You will be Matt Rector. Love, Liz."

Now it all made as much murky sense as he could figure out. Field Work! Not the interesting but normal job of building an international system of computer data and communications with secret backdoors and hidey holes for AGER, or dull as dirt bomb defusing. This was going to be the real exciting stuff that field operatives like Leo did!

Wait a minute, wasn't Leo "deadish"?

Nate Duggan was a bit less enthusiastic as he cleaned off his desk and headed home to pack for his evening flight across the Atlantic. He still wondered though; what was Liz doing that she needed him to bring over the plans for a five ton Fuel Air Explosive bomb? (3)

?

Draco had snuck in to see how his father was doing; or rather, he had been let down by a rope held by Greg and Vince up on the roof, and looked in through a window. Father was a mess; even when Draco had managed to get the window open and went into the room to give him some pain killers there had been no response, no acknowledgment that his son was there. The House-Elves had been in to clean up their Master, but the place still stank. It was obvious that Lucius Malfoy was either broken or hiding in his own mind; whether he could ever be fixed or his mind found again was very unlikely. The Longbottoms prolonged incapacitation was ample evidence that Draco had best start to consider himself Head of the Malfoy Family.

At least that was the opinion of the kidnapped Healer that had tried to transplant or grow a new eye for the Dark Lord. His failure had, of course, brought him death soon thereafter. Draco knew enough (and Mother, more knowing, had confirmed) that the Healer most likely hadn't been uncooperative or unskilled, just a victim of anger and spite. Just like the Malfoys were. Voldemort had forgotten that if both opposition and loyalty brought the same treatment, only the most servile would endure it. He also thought he could imprison the Malfoys in their own house; another mistake.

That night Vince and Greg went to a revel the Dark Lord had decreed. Draco wasn't invited, which suited him well; he had a lot to think about. Father was gone, no two ways about it. Draco had heard enough to know that he was soon going to have (for a short time) a new step-father, followed by a long time in the grave. He knew Mother wasn't happy about becoming the Bride of Rabastan; Aunt Bella had told her entirely too much about the Lestrange family marriage customs for her to welcome the forthcoming nuptials. Aunt Bella had demonstrated enough of the Lestrange customs for him to understand fully. So, Mother must leave, even if it meant abandoning Father, even if it was against her will. There was only one place to flee to; how odd it was that it had been Mother who had (unknowingly) been mending those fences for some time!

"House-Elf, attend me!"

The House-Elf known as Dimity popped in (despite the anti-Apparition spells that had been set up) and bowed deeply.

"Please bring me two flying brooms; and open up Mother's window. Then come back and tell me if she is alone."

Ten seconds from command to execution. Draco had been laying some of the groundwork for this for several days.

Narcissa Malfoy was considering how to get one of the two wands she had pulled out from behind the secret panel in her bedchamber to her son when little Dimity appeared and opened up one of her windows. On questioning why the cute little thing was letting in the damp night air (and the noise of the disgraceful orgy going on in the Main Ballroom) it came out that the Young Master had specifically ordered it. Narcissa was thrilled that Draco was coming to visit her; they had plans to make, and not much time to do it in. Now she could give Draco his choice of wand, keeping the other to kill Rabastan when he came to claim her body. She might not be a very good duelist, but she was sure she would be better prepared for the event than a man with his drawers down around his ankles.

So, tonight Draco would get the wand, the key to the Malfoy vault (and she'd let him know the secret password), and flee to safety. True, she couldn't go with him; her marriage to Lucius might not be considered a very happy one, but she was a Black, and she had her standards. Still, Draco would live, and killing Rabastan would not only avenge her husband's murder, but would make Bella happy also. If Bella wanted to get rid of Rodolphus, well, that would be her business after all. Narcissa spared a moment to ponder on how odd it was that she could be cheered up by the prospect of killing someone, and then probably dying herself.

Narcissa then ran to her desk, and began to furiously scribble away; composing in her usual elegant penmanship the story that Bellatrix had finally broken down and confessed to her little sister. Giving herself to Chief Warder Simmons to get away from the Dementors; becoming his concubine, and finally bearing little Lyra just as Simmons retired. How the man had abducted the infant and disappeared from view. It would be up to Draco to find his cousin, someday. If he took revenge on the man, that should depend on how well the poor child had been treated. Rescuing Lyra, his aunt's only child, now _tha_t was the important thing.

When Draco finally flew in through the oversized window it was almost anti-climatic. He urged her to come with him on the second broom; she protesting that her duty was to stay with her husband to the end. Draco was proud of his mother, of course. She was proving to be everything the Pure Blood propaganda he had been raised on said she should be. On the other hand she was also proving to be a pain in the arse; Father was a lost case and staying around to join him in death was very romantic, but rather stupid. It was Dimity (who had just arrived with some hot chocolate) who broke the impasse.

She snapped up her head, walked over to Draco and bowed deeply (that is, even more deeply than usual), saying:

"Master Draco sir is now the Master of Malfoy House! The Old Master, Master Lucius, is not beating his heart no more. So now Master Draco is top Master, and Dimity asks what she can do for her new Master."

Draco thought this was all too convenient, but he wasn't going to argue about it. He told Dimity to have the House-Elves start hiding all the really important art works and things, and then to hide themselves and not come out until a Malfoy came to tell them it was safe. Narcissa didn't correct him; she had been having the Elves do things like that for the last week or so anyway, and given them similar protective orders in case the unwanted guests at the House became unreasonable. Her efforts to argue with Draco, saying that they should check on Lucius, were swept away by his potent logic. House-Elves, especially Malfoy House-Elves would never tell a fib to their Masters; Father was dead and there was nothing to be gained by staying here for a glorious last stand. Instead they should fly immediately, while the usual guards were distracted by their carousing. As to where they would go, really there was only reasonable destination: Uncle Sirius.

Watching the two leave by the window, little Dimity smiled. The Lady and the Little Master had both been thinking of their servants. It was the Black in them Dimity thought; it was the Black coming out. Now she had to go to the Head Elf and confess that she had lied to the Lady. She knew what her punishment would be for that horrible crime; in fact she had volunteered for this duty some time ago and been making sure that she was always ready when the Lady and Little Master called for any elf. Now she would have to die, but all the household staff would know that she had saved the Good Masters, and she was content.

The next day, when all the drunks had been roused, and all the corners and rooms and corridors had been called in without either rousing a House-Elf or finding any Malfoy beyond the drooling and leaking one on the third floor, there was hell to pay. Lucius was gone in the first hour; the abuse from the Death Eaters who had attracted Voldemort's attention did him in quickly. Though given his state it was certain that they had suffered more that day than he had. Bellatrix, aching from the Dark Lord's less than loving reaction to his matchmaking going awry, searched her sister's room. On the elegant writing desk, among a welter of social notes, and under an exceedingly dull diary, was a small star-chart, with the constellation Lyra lightly circled. Through her pain Bella smiled; she knew it was a promise from Cissy.

Author's Notes:

TO&E- Table of Organization and Equipment. Troop numbers, command arrangements and what equipment and training the forces have. An essential element of military intelligence.

Gohei- items of Japanese religious paraphernalia that look like folded paper whips on the ends of sticks.

Equivalent to 35-40 tons of conventional high explosive munitions.


	59. Chapter 59

I do not own, or receive, any profit from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

By L. Huss

Chapter 59- Midnight Mischief

Harry Potter had become used to the extra space in his dormitory room that resulted from Neville's absence. The unused bed had become a general storage area (with stern warnings to the School House-Elves not to disturb it) that held books, articles of clothing, and various pieces of Quidditch equipment. He did still miss Neville, though. When a House-Elf popped into his room and handed him a note from the absent friend, he just grabbed a startled Ron and dragged him out of the room, ignoring all questions about what was going on.

The corridors were more empty than usual; this year most students were keeping to their Houses and tried to always be in company with their friends. The attack on the Alley hadn't killed any students, but family members had been lost or injured and a general atmosphere of tension filled the castle. For most of Wizarding Britain the security of Hogwarts had become a major attraction; some parents had even tried to persuade the Board to allow their children to start attending early, strictly for the safety. They remembered the First War with Voldemort and the squads of Death Eaters that had made midnight raids on the homes of the Muggleborn, and Ministry supporters.

The ranks of Slytherin were the only House noticeably thinned by the war. Some from that House were taking extended holidays out of the country, particularly those who had been pressured too heavily to join the Dark Lord and might not have had a desire to add murder to their family resume. The Greengrass and Davis girls were examples of that. Some of the missing had even clearer reasons to absent themselves. Malfoy (to Ron's delight), Crabbe, and Goyle were the prime examples of families not wanting to risk their heirs being taken for hostages. Even with Dumbledore's attempts to keep the school as neutral ground the temptation of the Ministry to bring in some scion of an obvious Death Eater family for "questioning" and hold him indefinitely couldn't be risked. The morale in the House of the Snake was low; even the most innocent of them dreaded being asked the question: "And what is your family doing in the War?"

They went down the corridors and the stairs. Through the semi-secret tunnel to **Honeydukes,** where waiting for the boys in the dark aisle between the glass displays of Cauldron Cakes and Exploding Bon-Bons were two cloaked figures. Those figures turned and led the students out through the back door down a series of alleys and streets, until they came to another door in a wider dead-ending alley, and entered. Ron had had to be shushed a dozen times on the trip through the semi-deserted town; all Harry had told him was that Neville was back and wanted to talk to them. As they entered the building the smell gave away at least part of the identity of their destination: a pub or restaurant. Then it was up the stairs and into a lit room with a couch and a table with an assortment of chairs around it. The view out of the window gave the location away; "The **Three Broomsticks**," Ron said. One of the figures took off its cloak, and revealed Neville Longbottom; taller, tanner, and without one of his usual bland or reserved looks on his face. He nodded to them as the other person went to the window and closed the curtains, and then stood there for a moment facing the street outside.

Before Harry could say anything Ron spoke: "Good to see you and all, mate, but that's a bloody grim expression to put on your face for a reunion. Not any bad news or anything, is it?"

"Bad news brought me. I was in the States to get over Dumbledore's mind-screwing, and Otto Hahn was pretty good to me there. You know, cut to pieces in Diagon Alley a few weeks ago? And She's not been any great source of chuckles for the last few days, either," Neville said, jerking his head toward the person now turning toward them and removing her cowl.

"Well, Nev, I thought I managed to give you a smile or two last night at Uncle Algie's place, after he went to bed. Or was I mistaken?" Annette Hahn had a teasing look on her face for a second, before she took on again an expression of brittle urgency.

To Harry it was obvious that Neville hadn't been exaggerating when he had written that he and Annette had been getting along well. From the quick blush Nev sported there was no doubt that she had him well and truly housebroken. The way that her hand went out blindly and automatically when she came near him, and she visibly relaxed when he grasped it indicated that the affection wasn't a one way street.

Ron seated himself on the coach, sprawled as much as he could without putting his feet up on the upholstery, and broke a slightly awkward silence.

"True love is nice and all, but I doubt that's why you had us rush out into the misty, misty night. I didn't even have a chance to put on my secret-meeting-only special quiet boots before Harry here hauled me out of school. I take it that mayhem and murder are on the agenda? You've discovered Malfoy's location and want us to teach him how to drop a thousand feet or so? That would be worth me missing working on my Transfiguration essay."

"Ron, unless you've changed greatly, finally washing your feet would be excuse enough to make you miss working on an essay. No, there's something in the school that we need, and it'll be easier for students to get to. I'm not one anymore, and if anyone saw me it would be hard to explain." Neville finished his statement, then walked to a bell-pull and yanked it down twice.

Annette picked up the flow, "As for the Malfoys, they're under control for the moment. If you see mother or son, hold your fire unless there's a particular provocation. If you see the dad… how good are you on handling zombies?"

Ron didn't take long to remark that Draco's being in the same building was usually a good enough provocation to have a go at him, and the proper terminology was "Inferius, singular Inferi." The notion that Lucius Malfoy was eligible to be among that throng actually cheered Ron up a bit. The unproven but suspected way Riddle's Diary had come into Ginny's possession had given him even less desire to live-and-let-live with the senior Malfoy than with Draco.

Neville agreed, in a general way, with Ron. But that had nothing to do with why this meeting was set up.

"There's a room, in the School, somewhere on the seventh floor. It has something to do with dancing, and it's hard to get into; concealed somehow. Inside is something important to the war we're in. If you can find it, and open it, Annette and I will risk getting into Hogwarts and do retrieval. We're trained in dealing with stuff like this, and we have equipment to handle the traps involved. And believe me, it's going to be trapped. You can get Hermione and Luna to handle the puzzle parts of this. It might take a few days to locate it; we'll be here after dark each night until midnight. Flash us a signal: one long and two short repeated twice from your dorm window. We'll meet you outside the door to the Gryff tower at midnight and you can show us how to get into the room. Or you could give me the current password and I'll just knock on your door. And yes, I'll remember the password!"

As he finished speaking Neville gave Harry a steel cased electric torch with strange glyphs painted on the shell.

"Erh… Nev, Muggle stuff doesn't work in Hogwarts, remember?" Ron tried to break the news gently to his obviously distracted friend.

"This isn't exactly 'Muggle' anymore. It'll work."

?

It amazed Draco that his mother could cook. Despite having lived with House-Elves all of her life she had managed, somewhere, to pick up the rudiments of cookery. It wasn't like the food he was used to at home, but still decent enough not to need any excuses. Another one of the increasing number of enigmas Draco had noticed about his mother. She refused to remain just a slightly vain social butterfly; instead she had managed to run a hospital ward, build political alliances, and would have managed to spring Draco from the Mansion if he hadn't managed it himself. He had no doubt of it.

Father had, by any measure, been a far stronger wizard with a deep knowledge of the Darkest spells. He had been a master of political corruption and scheming, and seemingly had been born with a complete lack of any moral scruples. He had been broken by his closest companions for no sane reason, while Mother was now living comfortably, with complete freedom to come or go, in a rural cottage overlooking the town of Mona on the Isle of Anglesey. All part of the varied, and only lately rationalized, Black Family holdings. This one was so far off the books, neglected so long, that it had never even been connected to the Floo Network, making it perfect for a discrete retreat from any hostile surveillance.

Draco was, of course, going mad from boredom. He had been declared clean of any tracking or monitoring spells, and could use his wand without worrying about showing up as an underage magic user. The trouble was that it wasn't really _his_ wand. Whoever had owned the stubborn piece of lumber previously had evidently been of a completely opposite magical nature than Draco; using it was like trying to fly a cursed broom, nothing but a struggle from start to finish. Finally, he had to just put down all of his botched spells as the price of freedom, and worked grimly on slowly breaking the wild wood to his will. Things like this built character, he supposed, as he wiped the sweat off of his forehead.

The Malfoy fortune was secure, shifted to an anonymous vault with a different key and a password requirement. The old vault _probably_ hadn't been compromised, but when you were in opposition to one of the most powerful wizards in the world it didn't pay to take things for granted. And after all, where even the most powerful spells failed there was always the chance that bribery might succeed; Gringotts _was_ run by Goblins. Cousin Sirius had managed their affairs at the bank as if he had been subverting the Ministry's reporting requirements for years, and had arranged a set of guarantees and oaths with the few Goblins in on the changes with efficiency and a surprising lack of hostility on both sides. Hefty "service fees" probably had a lot to do with that.

Cousin Sirius had managed all of his gifts and services without even once seeming to rub in his power over them; this had impressed Draco most of all. With or without his magic if seemed there was something strong inside of him, something that Father had never quite been able to pull off. It seemed that racing to become the most complete monster wasn't the only path to success in Wizarding Britain.

?

"So, you think they've got a new line at where the Hogwarts Horcrux is?" Ron asked Harry as they hurried back down the tunnel towards the school.

"Probably. Do you think the Malfoys defected with the information?"

"Could be; a quick coat-turning is pretty much their style. I notice you didn't tell your old flame that we'd been looking for the damn thing for weeks. Looking for a little publicity, Mister Glory Hound?"

Harry laughed, "As if. They didn't come completely clean with us, I didn't see any reason not to return the treatment. Though they at least gave us an idea of the danger, better than the Headmaster pretending it's just another stroll in the woods."

"Between the girls and us, should be a piece of cake."

"Ron, what has Luna been telling you about saying that?"

Ron refused to dignify Harry's pessimism with a reply. "Still, between us all we have a lot of skills, and with my organizing and your brute strength we should be able to handle Big V's soul's left little toe. Really, with all the Horcruxes he made, it must be down to something like that."

Harry frowned at that; he wasn't as sure about things now that he had had a chance to think about it. "Hermione's bright enough, and Luna's had her two week course from the oriental chit on 'The Spirit World and You', but when you come down to it we're three Fifth Years and a Fourth going up against something put together by Voldemort. Start using that organizing brain and figure out how we should handle the Horcrux if it turns into a dragon when we enter the room."

Ron was quiet all the way back up to their room, following Harry's advice and using his brain rather than his tongue. The obvious answer to their problem was Dumbledore but that brought up the known shortcomings of dealing with a twinkling-eyed egomaniac who was probably almost as good as he thought he was. If Dumbledore got involved they would be cut out and probably never even know how things turned out. Plus he might decide to try to use the Horcrux to "reform" Voldemort, and end up turning it over to him as a gesture of good faith. With Dumbledore you just never knew. What they needed was some decent support that wasn't so… eccentric.

At 11 PM, a week and a bit later, Filius Flitwick was standing with his game face on next to Aurora Sinistra while Hermione was pacing back in forth in front of a blank wall. He had been past this part of the castle before in his years at Hogwarts, but had never paid any attention to it beyond wondering idly who was odd enough to be doing ballet with Trolls. He'd never quite cared enough to do any research, and was enjoying the thought that the tapestry with the scene existed only to be a marker for where the secret room or corridor was located. Unfulfilled curiosity gave him a reason to get up every day; there was always going to be new and unexpected things popping up.

He knew Aurora was there to satisfy herself on why her Thesis on the Ley Lines of Hogwarts had turned out so weak. She had eventually had to throw out two years of work and take a different topic for her Master's Thesis. If Hogwarts had major architectural features that were of a roaming or extra-dimensional nature it might be the explanation of why her best and most accurate measurements had always been so un-reproducible. She had brought along a kit of surveying tools and a specialized camera to record any meaningful results to the student's efforts.

It was on the fourth try that the first clear result was obtained. A set of doors appeared and opened into an opulent salon decorated in a red, plush velvet harem style. Harry checked the Horcrux compass he had managed to borrow off of Sirius, and then shook his head. They left the room, Luna and Ron looking back wistfully (they had wanted to try out some of the furniture), and closed it behind them.

"I was asking Hogwarts to open up the place Riddle used to conjure up the most during his time when he was a student. Lots of mirrors, weren't there?" Hermione continued, "Now that I have a better idea of what way to go at this we should be able to locate what we want pretty quickly."

Her next attempt opened up a large dusty warehouse of a place, with miscellaneous objects all about, most covered in decades worth of dust, many plainly broken and discarded. Harry's check of his specialized compass quickly showed a line into the depths of the gloomy room. He pulled out his wand and went directly to Summoning.

"Accio Horcrux!"

The wait for the Horcrux quickly became anti-climactic, and Flitwick contributed some expert advice.

"Either the object is too large and heavy for the spell to move, which I doubt having seen Mr. Potter's success with it, or the object has itself been charmed to not respond to a summoning spell. Which is certainly something_ I'd _have done if I had anything of that sort to keep hidden."

"But doesn't the compass have an attraction to it?" Hermione asked.

"Certainly, but that's the other way round, don't you see? The compass has a relationship to the artifact that's different than the artifact would have with a summoning spell. In one case the thing is affected by the spell; in the other the spell is reacting to the thing."

"But they must have an equal relationship to each other. That's how magnetic compasses work after all."

"Oh well, magnetic compasses…" Flitwick said with a slight tone of disdain.

Luna's arm lifted, seemingly almost against her will, and pointed off into the gloom.

"Evil is that way; lots of evil," she said.

Harry checked her pointing finger against the compass needle. Yes, there was a definite convergence point abut fifteen yards up ahead. Though the room was large and gloomy, it seemed to have a sort of uniform gloominess about it. Hermione looked over his shoulder, saw the direction indicated, and began to briskly pace forward.

"There it is," she yelled out, and grabbed something off of a plaster bust. Holding it in both hands she began to slowly set it onto her head.

"Stupify!"

She twitched when the spell hit, the tiara flying from her fingers and making a ringing sound as it hit the stone floor.

Ron had hit her with his spell without thinking. An instant later he felt embarrassed, doing that had just felt like the thing to do. After all, Luna had said it was evil, Harry had said one like it had been able to sneak thoughts into his head, and Hermione had grabbed it and had been acting so oddly. No comment on the artistic style, no lecture on how they had to handle it carefully; just picked it up and began to… almost crown herself. Much too odd, very much not Hermione.

"Well done my boy!" Professor Flitwick said. "You have the right instincts for this sort of thing. I felt an urge to pick it up myself, and now look at Potter."

Harry had taken a stumbling step or so further into the room. When Flitwick mentioned him he stopped, and then took a step backward.

"I feel like I've got an empty place in my head, and have to fill it. Accio Hermione!"

At that the girl lifted up and flew into his arms, then he turned and walked briskly out of the room before reviving her.

As Aurora shepherded the others out of the room Flitwick wondered what compulsions or inducements she had heard in the recesses of her mind. At least she had been able to resist them without giving any sign, but then she had always presented an impassive front when she was with the students, only cutting loose when with her friends and in private. To him it had seemed to promise the wisdom to redress all of his mother's people's long-held grievances. That, and a chance to find remedies to all the other disappointments of his life. As it did from time to time a wave of loss washed over him; poor J.R.R., dying of old age when so many of the things he had written about were coming true in other forms. What times they had had at **The Eagle and Child** discussing their careers and swapping poetry and scraps of unfinished works! If only his Muggle years had stretched long enough to see this War unfolding, and if only his perfectionist ways had allowed him to publish something after _only_ five or ten drafts to polish it.

"Well, students, it seems that your mysterious friends may well be right about needing special preparation for handling a Dark Artifact of that power. I'm sure that Professor Sinistra and I could whip something up in a few weeks, but I'm inclined to wanting that thing out of the school as quick as possible. It's true that, perhaps, the Room is too hard to find and hard to open for there to be much danger. But now that it is known, the sooner the better things are brought to a close. Get your friends in, if you trust them not to be taken in by the Artifact."

Sinistra volunteered her services:

"I'll take Granger and Potter into Hogsmeade directly. They seemed the most influenced by the thing. With a Professor leading them there should be no trouble from Prefects or the like. Meanwhile it might be best if the other three of you stood guard here; I've never liked stories where people mean to get around to doing important things like telling the Detective 'Who Done It' after a leisurely trip to the Owl Post, and then a long afternoon tea with friends."

Professor Sinistra was one of the most organized of the school's Professors; no doubt from having to keep track of all those moving stars, comets, and planets. Her advice struck Flitwick as singularly good. Before they left he pulled Potter aside for a moment, and Harry gave him something from his pocket. Then the party split up to attend their separate duties.

As soon as the others were well on their way the Professor handed Luna the invisibility cloak that Harry had slipped him, and told her to get under it with her wand drawn and not to leave the area until the problem was taken care of. Ron smiled at this; most of Hogwarts knew (vaguely) that the Professor was once a professional duelist. Hermione had dug up the actual dates, as well as the fact that he had run a squad of volunteer Hit-Wizards on the Continent during the Grindelwald War. (1) Now if some strange chance took place, or Professor Sinistra proved a bent copper, the Good Guys would have a hidden ace in the hole.

It took over an hour before the others got back, with one restroom break, and a reminder to Luna that humming from an unseen source was a dead giveaway that someone invisible was around. As soon as the five were within range Professor Flitwick hit them with a quick "Finite" each, just in case there was something going on. Nobody broke out with a warning or attack, but Annette was certainly a little startled.

She then stood silent for a moment, and the invisibility cloak whipped up and off of Luna, hung in the air for a moment, and then decided to return to Harry. Neville gave a little smile at that; his girl had a lot a trouble letting anyone upstage her.

Annette got right to business then: "It's a crowny thing, right? About fifty feet in, and currently on the ground? A little to the left? OK, got it. You open her up, I go in with Nev, and you lot get ready to give covering fire if things go screwy. That includes on us if things go totally bad." Then she pulled a heavily carved box from her robe and gave a nod to get the show on the road. Professors Flitwick and Sinistra looked at the box, and gave each other enthusiastic little comments on the Rune Crafting and other spells on it.

Hermione opened the Room to the right configuration with a great deal more confidence this time. Annette and Neville went in, hand in hand, perhaps fifteen feet. Then she reluctantly motioned him to stay and took about ten more paces before standing stock-still and just staring off into space. The professors waited for her to attempt a spell, evidently wandlessly (and fail), before calling in some adult help. Instead, after a few seconds, the diadem slowly rose into the air. The girl set the opened box down and floated the diadem into it, and then touchlessly slamming the lid shut. Then she called out.

"Luna, could you come in and just make sure about things? Hanging out with Nate last summer has gotten me a little cautious about there being layers of booby-traps, or there being false bombs covering real ones."

Luna was eager to get deeper into the room and actually do something. All night she had been taking notes of the action (and she knew that tonight's stuff would be a good chapter in the book she was going to write on the War someday, as well as an incident in a novel that she had half-plotted out already) but that wasn't at all like actually_ doing_ anything! So she walked in cautiously and looked, listened, spelled, and opened her Chakra Gates trying to detect creepy shadows, ominous rustlings, hostile glows, or demonic essences. Except for the stale scent of urine coming from a pile of old chamber pots the room presented nothing much more menacing than any overcrowded junk and storage room that hadn't been cleared out in far too long.

It was at that point that Dame Chaos joined the party for a little bit.

As might be expected, all the hunting up on the largely disused seventh floor, visiting of Hogsmeade, and general scurrying about after curfew hadn't completely escaped the keen senses of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore; especially not when Harry Potter was involved. While keeping a close and unperceived magical watch on someone in the notoriously paranoid Potter Clique was difficult in the magic saturated halls of Hogwarts, certainly by the time two innocent and unsuspecting Professors and two outsiders were added to the afterhours mix it had become obvious to the alerted ghosts and portraits of the school that the Headmaster had to be alerted. It had taken him some time to put on a warm enough robe and proper socks, but he now appeared in time to be the proverbial stick in the spokes, fly in the soup, or weevil in the flour.

"My, there are a lot of us up here this evening, aren't there? Aurora, Filius, how nice to see you supervising the students, even at this late hour. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Luna, what _are_ you up to? And who is the young lady standing besides young Neville? Will you be coming back to school with us Mr. Longbottom? I fear that this is too late in the term for you to just step back into your place for this year."

Hermione was silent and abashed at being caught out at what was undoubtedly an irregular nocturnal expedition. Just going for a quiet snog and being caught was one thing; this was an entirely different and new level of wrongness for her.

Ron was at a loss at how to subdue Dumbledore and let the others escape. After all, it was _Dumbledore_, and unless everyone just fled the country there simply wasn't any safe place to hide. And, when you get down to it, it was _Dumbledore_; it wasn't likely that even Flitwick could do anything against him anyway.

Luna was trembling with artistic joy. This confrontation was an incredible twist that would help make her eventual "Secret History of the End of Voldemort" a historically accurate thriller! Two factions of the forces of Good locked in conflict against each other! The staunch Guardian of Wizarding Britain in confrontation with a crack team of International Magical Commandos! She desperately wanted to know how this would turn out.

The teachers didn't quite know what to say. They had agreed from the start that Dumbledore, no matter how things turned out, would be kept out of the loop. Now everything was suddenly topsy-turvy.

Liz was thinking of what her older brother would have done. She guessed completely wrong, and Albus Dumbledore was within ten seconds of discovering if he could breathe vacuum.

Neville was feeling sick. In his hand in the pocket in his robe was something of Leo's that Liz had insisted he take along. Now a loaded, cocked, and safety off Luger pistol was discretely pointed at the Headmaster of Hogwarts. If Liz was in any danger… but his hand didn't tremble.

Harry just smiled and said, "We found it, Headmaster. The Room of Hidden Things! I remembered you talking about it during the Triwizard Tournament, and we've been looking for it. Look, there's the no end of junk in here from who knows how long. It's even got chamber pots in it!

"We've been working with Nev and Annette; he's come over for some family business, and they got us some clues on how to find it. I bet this will get at least a chapter in **Hogwarts: a History**, don't you? We just had them in for tonight, the opening; thought they should be. Professor Sinistra's had them under her eye the whole time; they haven't gotten up to any mischief, and I'm sure that she won't mind escorting them out of school, now that they've seen the Room."

The Astronomy Professor agreed that she would love to do that right now, and began to herd the two youngsters off. The Headmaster was tempted to delay their exit and give them a little interrogation; after all the girl wasn't a student (besides there being no House badge on her robe the Headmaster prided himself on memorizing the faces and names of all his many charges), but she hadn't a noticeable Magical Core, and was undoubtedly not worth bothering about. He waved them away and eagerly went exploring into the legendary Room he had accessed only once before by accident.

When the Headmaster was deep into the room, and out of earshot, Ron asked, "Harry, I've always wondered. How did you get to be such a good liar? Every word was true, and he's still barking in the wrong forest."

"Prisoners learn to be like that, it's a way of surviving."

"What! Where have you been in gaol?"

"Dursley Detention Center for the Punishment of Young Wizards," Hermione said.

Ron thought of barred windows, locked doors, and food being shoved in through a cat-flap, then nodded. "Yes, I see how you're right."

Author's Notes.

While Wizarding Britain itself was not directly involved in the Grindelwald War of the '30s and '40s there were numbers of volunteers from Britain and overseas that came over to fight for the established governments against Grindelwald, and the army of Dark Wizards he had raised.


	60. Chapter 60

I do not own, or receive and profit, from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

By L. Huss

Chapter 60- "Endless money forms the sinews of war"

Cicero, back in old Roman days, had said that "Endless money is the sinews of war." In Latin, of course. Still, it was true; even Wizards needed money to live, much less run a war and corrupt even something as low in moral fiber as the Ministry of Magic. Not all of it was equally penetratable, and for the last month the purged and revitalized Aurors had been closing off avenues of information and streams of income that should have been helping the Cause. Even the Wizengamot had been kicked into enough action to have sent six of the most active Death Eaters that had been caught through the Veil to whatever uncertain fate awaited those who took that trip.

Voldemort needed money, and without the Malfoy estate and the ability to coerce gold from families that had fled the country and were out of his reach (all the Greengrass and a good half dozen other families that had been milked in the past), it would have to come from, in the largest part, his own wealthiest supporters. An attempt at robbing a Muggle bank, with the idea of later exchanging the loot for good Galleons at Gringotts Bank, had not worked out. When the satchels with the paper money had been opened all of the bills had been stained with some horrid ink and ruined. Attempts to clean up the money had resulted in bills appearing fine, but still failing whatever strange tests that the Goblins performed to make sure that Muggle counterfeit money wasn't passed to them. (1)

It was to deal with this uncomfortable fact that on November 3rd Rabastan Lestrange, suitably Polyjuiced, made a withdrawal of over 10,000 Galleons from the rapidly shrinking sum in the Lestrange family vault. It was a joint account; he and Rodolphus had always shared everything, down to Bellatrix until she'd gotten good enough to register an effective protest. It made things easier (the joint account) now that Rodolphus was barely recovered from whatever hell-brew had been splashed on him at Diagon Alley in August. As long as Rabastan was brisk enough to get all his business done before the potion wore off it was the best of disguises, one of the hardest to be seen through. It did require him to go to some lengths to get the Goblin teller to acknowledge his true identity, but Goblins were always difficult, anyway, and would get theirs (in spades!) when the Dark Lord triumphed.

As he went down the steps of the Bank a little question formed in his head; a bit of nonsense, really. "Who are you?"

"The handsome and Pure-Blooded Rabastan Lestrange, of course!" he thought in an instant, moving briskly toward a suitable place to do Apparition from. Some very odd man, large and disgustingly muscular, looked at him and suddenly grinned. Moving briskly up toward Rabastan the fellow greeted him: "Simon, you old dog. Where have you been keeping yourself these days?"

Rabastan's mind tried desperately to deal with this freakish chance that whomsoever's face he was wearing had a friend right there, almost lying in wait, when he felt a sharp prick in his side and before he could say a word, fell into unconsciousness.

He woke into a world of glare and an echoing chirping in a moderately sized room. He couldn't focus, everything had a haze around it, and he was naked, cold, and tied to a metal chair. A man in a business suit was sitting nearby with a folder and a pen, seemingly rather bored. The only really unusual thing about him was the apparent lack of skin on his face; just muscles, teeth, and eyeballs.

"Ah, good, you're awake, Mr.… Lestrange. Yes. Now to business. You will take the birthday girl out, and let her pick her present. If you don't you will die in incredible pain and horror. I think that covers it. Any questions?"

Rabastan, one of the most dedicated of the Dark Lord's soldiers, spat out his defiance, and felt the entire left side of his body spasm in agony. Except for his scream, and the whimpers he came out with after the pain had left him, the room was silent for a moment.

"Ah, the old sciatic; plays the devil with me when the weather's bad. Now… you _do _believe us, don't you? About the pain and dying part? Because if you don't, we can skip right to the burying you alive part; much easier to clean up if we don't have to go through excessive reductive surgery, you understand."

The man was speaking in a Midlands accent, with a warm and friendly voice that under other circumstances would have made him a good spokesman for some business that relied on the confidence of its customers for success. If he had had a actually had a face, and wasn't able and willing to torture with pain that was as terrible as the Crucio. Rabastan found himself nodding and agreeing to do what the man requested. The birthday girl wanted him to escort her to the family vault in Gringotts. Piece of cake; the family had tons of old junk in the vault that they had just never gotten around to clearing out; it was practically a benefit for the child to help take some of it away.

Two men, regular men, men with faces and everything came in and released him from the chair and stood him up.

"Come in Dorati, and bring the Controller with you. Time to meet the nice Mr. Lestrange."

A young female came in, short and slender and carrying a writhing tubular creature that was as long and large and very much like a policeman's club; except for the open tri-jawed mouth. The girl, of course, was as faceless as the first man, and her flayed smile was not reassuring to Rabastan. The Controller was passed to one of the normal (perhaps) men, who disappeared behind the wizard.

"Dorati, your face! We have company!"

She swiped her hand across the skinless bone and muscle and a pleasant, even pretty, countenance appeared. She smiled, and gave Rabastan a dainty curtsey. He felt a freezing line for a second that went down his back from midway down to the buttocks. An inhuman screech came, that swiftly subsided into muted burbling, and then disappeared. Rabastan felt as if there was now something moving _inside_ his back, coiling around his spine. His bladder released.

"Dorati grew that one in her very own garden; isn't she clever? It'll do whatever she says, at least for the next day or so. Just to let you know, so you don't make an unpleasant mistake." The faceless man's voice was friendly and confiding. Rabastan felt no urge to doubt him, or put Dorati's control of the thing to any sort of test.

"You seem to have had a slight… accident. We'll just give you a chance to clean up and let you go on your little shopping expedition then."

The man then swiped his hand over his face; eliminating his boneless condition but not for the better. At Rabastan's gagging the man gave an embarrassed little chuckle and remarked, "Sorry, wrong one," and put a more normal best-face-forward on. At that the two other men led… more dragged… Rabastan out to get washed up and dressed.

When the wizard was out of the room, George Quiller posed a question to Liz Green: "I thought that went well, didn't you? That whole Aztec Death God thing you wanted to do would have just been a strain on Patsy to pull off. And before I forget, evidently a splendid show Patsy! I was able to get enough emotional tone out of him that I could chart each time you pulled a switch." (2)

A tenor voice came in through the doorway, "Thanks Chief. If only I could do it on two or three hundred at a time I could stop having to carry around my stage makeup kit; save a fortune on powder and paints."

Liz, still a little resentful that her chance to star as Queen of the Underworld in someone's waking nightmare had been vetoed, carped in a sharp tone, "It didn't hurt that he was doped to the gills with anxiety producing meds first, though."

Patsy, a slightly flamboyant man in his late twenties, came into the room with a large makeup kit, which he set up on the table. Liz obediently sat down while he turned her face into another, completely different one that would pass inspection under all normal light conditions. He was too much of a professional to do anything grotesque to her, despite her sore-loser response to not having her scenario used to influence Lestrange being chosen. In any case she gave a shamefaced apology as he was finishing up; she hated acting childishly, or at least being caught out acting childishly.

?

Rabastan Lestrange escorted the girl (he knew it was the same one, even though she looked different) through the **Leaky Cauldron**. She was dressed in a preadolescent party dress to match the face she had on currently, and carried a **Harrods** shopping bag. He was too nervous to even care that the Polyjuice had long worn off, and that he was looking just like himself. She had gone through the Muggle-repelling charms as they weren't even there, proof that he had been in some sort of magical encounter. Rabastan wasn't the pointiest wand in the rack, but nothing he had ever heard about even nearly matched what had happened to him earlier that day. Even now he felt just a twinge in his back every now and again as the Controller evidently found a slightly more comfortable position. It dissuaded him from attempting to either flee or try for revenge against the girl (pretty, and just the right age). He had been told that it sensed her moods, and her presence, and that until it dissolved inside of him (pleasant thought, that) he should avoid either disturbing her, or getting too far away. What "too far" was hadn't been specified.

He had far less trouble this time getting to his vault, for which he was very grateful; soonest begun, soonest finished. The girl made appreciative little noises on the trip down to the low level the Lestrange vault was; they had been one of Gringotts earliest clients and had a suitably deep location. When the vault was opened she closely followed him inside, and then went from corner to corner inside like an over-caffeinated squirrel. The place was full (well, less so with gold than it had been twenty years or so ago) with family treasures, and trash that had been accumulating since the Lestranges had fled Flanders six hundred years earlier for the safety of more easygoing Britain.

Rabastan heard a noise behind him, and swiftly turned to check on it; only a book falling onto its side. Dorati shouted out in triumph and called his attention back to the rear of the vault. She was holding up a gilt and rhinestone crown of the sort set on over-precious Victorian children at pretentious parties. She cried out, "Can I have it, can I, can I?"

Rabastan didn't remember it from his previous visits to the vault, but something of such obvious gimcrack nature would likely have passed beneath his notice in any case. As long as that was all that the little demon-spawn (probably literally) wanted, Rabastan was content. He quickly answered her; "Sure girl, take it away, and with my blessing!" That should satisfy these absurd and horrible people. As she skipped her way to the front of the vault, and then outside, he casually ambled a little deeper into it and glanced at a low table hidden from a direct view from the doorway of the chamber. Yes, it was there, the Cup gleamed golden in the low light. That, and the money, were the things of importance in the vault. Remembering that, he realized he still had to get back to the Dark Lord with the gold. He frantically pulled out his charmed purse and discovered it was… full. It seemed every Galleon he had withdrawn before was still in it. This, as much as anything else, proved to him he had been abducted by inhuman creatures.

It wasn't until he was standing on an Underground platform waiting for a train that a thought struck him. All that had happened that day was simply too much for some mad birthday present, even by insane standards of thinking. That cheap and nasty crown; had it merely been disguised? Was it, perhaps, the fabled lost crown of Ravenclaw that made all your spells twice as powerful, twice as fast to cast, and twice as long lasting? Was that the secret of today's adventures?

He looked up the platform toward the exit up, the way the girl had gone. Someone had stepped out of the shadows near her. Rabastan recognized him, though not many would have. Neville Longbottom, a person of special interest to all the Lestrange's… and Crouch, of course. Rabastan decided on a quick Apparition to some place of safety where he could regroup and order his thoughts; he realized that things were simply not adding up.

He thought of his destination, gripped his wand, exerted his will, and went nowhere. The place was jinxed! He saw Dorati turn and smile at him, and he knew that his time was almost up if he did nothing. He was Rabastan Lestrange, most loyal of Death Eaters! He wouldn't go down without a fight! He jumped down from the platform and crossed over the gleaming metal strips safely (he had heard about the dreaded Third Rail) and was scaling to the next platform with its nearby exit to the safety of Muggle London, when the 4:35 express train to Croydon whizzed through the station on that particular track at 45 mph (73 KPH) and compressed the lower half of his body to a thickness of 2 inches (52mm). His enchanted purse was ripped in half and the contents scattered up into the air and onto the platform, showering a King's Ransom, or a Pirate's Treasure Trove, onto the bemused commuters and shoppers of Metropolitan London. Many of them, on recognizing what had dropped at their feet, grabbed as many coins as they could and ran for the exit, even if it meant missing their train. The Ministry's crack teams of Obliviators never managed to catch up to all those that were there that day, not least because they themselves spent some time stuffing pockets, too.

Liz looked at Neville in a bewildered way, and lifted her hand up in a sort of sketchy Scout's gesture.

"I swear, Nev, we played straight with him. No delayed poisons or _anything_. I have no idea why he did that. Now, don't go and be sick on me honey. _Not our doing_, he went and did that all on his lonesome. If we knew he was going to do that we wouldn't have bothered with the whole 'Rabastan goes to Hell' scenario.

"Anyway, mission completed! I did the switch." With that she opened the bag, at the bottom of which was the Hufflepuff Cup. It had been exchanged for a reasonable facsimile, made to match the image Marge Quiller had gotten from Tom Riddle's mind while he had been having an exchange of repartee with Leo Green, rather than paying attention to business and just killing the man. The inside of the bag was almost black with the carefully written protective spells. She had, of course, not actually touched the Cup to get it into the bag. That was what Teek was for after all.

She closed the bag carefully, took Neville's hand, and walked calmly up the stairs to the streets above where their ride waited. Right now she just wanted to get home, get changed, and take off the makeup she was wearing. It made her look like she was ten; not the image she wanted to present to her Significant Other.

?

When Lord Voldemort heard of Rabastan's death he was disturbed. The fool should have only needed an hour to get the needed funds; what was he doing getting killed ten hours later deep in Muggle London? He had still had the gold on him, so he couldn't have been intercepted by enemies. The only possible explanation was he had been indulging himself in some of those gross bodily pleasures his family was notorious for. Voldemort fell into a morass of despair; these were the best of the Wizarding World, fools like Rabastan and traitors (contradicting the will of his Dread Lord!) like Lucius Malfoy. Narcissa's flight was unsurprising; what sane woman would want to marry Rabastan after the intimate details of the family had become known?

Were they worth his efforts to uplift and lead them? Did they appreciate all his pains and suffering? A tear trickled out of his single eye. It was as it had always been; he was surrounded by enemies, and fools, and false friends. The only real joy he had ever had, would ever have, was in torturing them all.

?

Masatane Tomoko stood under the stars and saw the Lady Miura waving out from the high temple platform at something unseen that was evidently departing. The teen was bravely restraining herself from tears; Masatane couldn't hold herself back and went to the Lady and put her arm around her.

"Don't worry Lady; I'm sure it will come back soon."

"I have to hope not; I think the only way my Lion will come back is when he is dead. Then he might spend a little time here before he mounts the Wheel. The Spirits have told me, and they don't lie, merely sometimes deceive. "

Masatane thought of some of the things she had seen in the last few months; impossible martial arts, easing pain, and healing with a touch. Some nights she had spent spying on the Lady Miura when she had been doing fire readings. Masatane had been _almost _able to see something in the flames, something that shouldn't be there in a material world. It was frightening… intriguing. She thought of something the Lady had just said.

"'He'? The spirit beast was male?"

She thought of some of the times she had seen the Lady playing in the moonlight with… something; the Lady wearing a set of pajamas, or even only a nightgown. Some of the positions had been…

"Of course, male. Lion male, lioness female. Not hard at all to figure that out. Oh, Tomochan, whatever were you thinking? I'm afraid you have a very dirty mind. I think I like that.

"But no, now you're just being silly."

The Priestess gave a small laugh and started to walk back to her suite, leaving Masatane confused, but glad she had cheered up the young woman.

Author's Notes:

While it is true that Muggle anti-theft and counterfeiting measures could potentially be circumvented by properly done Magical research, it is very unlikely that a group despising Muggles and their ways even more so than normal Wizarding society, would devote the needed care and time to do so. Instead, attempts to fool the Goblins are more likely to be attempted, and fail.

AGER is regularly finding new talents of varying degrees of utility. Patrick Ryan (Patsy) was the possessor of the rare form of projective telepathy that was being labeled Show, the ability to make someone see an image or images that Ryan sent into his mind. Currently the range was limited to less than 50 feet, and to only one person.

Special note: At the end of Chapter 2 there is a short listing of emergent talents known to be available to AGER members, though which ones and to what degree vary between individuals, with later generations more likely to have more observable Talent, and more categories of Talent. Show was discovered subsequent to the List being made, as was Psychic Healing.

Also please note that the Children of the Fire (Japanese Emergents) are not part of AGER, and may have variant Talents and terminology.


	61. Chapter 61

I do not own, or receive any benefit, from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

By Larry Huss

Chapter 61- Making a list and…

Leo Green had read about a saying airplane pilots had: any landing you could walk away from was a good one. He felt like he had just been in a very bad landing.

He had memories of dreams. Vivid dreams of being himself but not himself. He thought that Miura had been in them, somewhere, but despite her being even better looking than when she had been over a few weeks ago there hadn't been any erotic content that he could remember. That was probably wise. Having an erotic urge for the little Princess was unlikely to evade Rita's attention; she was far more perceptive about his emotional state in matters like that than little things like his not really being a Wizard. Rita… something about her… she was in trouble or… oh, no!

The smell of antiseptic, the sound of squeaking gurneys going by outside; no doubt about it. Well, he was in a hospital; a normal one. Once again all hooked up to dripping bottles and beeping monitors; almost old-home week. The memories, buried under the trauma-pain were all coming back now. Along came questions; did Marge get the data, was Rita all right, and how bad was his damage? Nagging in the back of his mind remained his wondering about Miura, what exactly did his memories of being a child and playing with her mean, and why did he dream such a thing? In any case, still being alive indicated that it hadn't been a complete fiasco. Now all he had to do was get himself up to speed on current events.

He tried to use his Eteek to manipulate the signals going toward the monitors into producing music, something simple; a basic piano piece by Beethoven. As he heard the yells and rushing feet of the medical staff organizing themselves before coming to his room he painfully shook his head. No, he still couldn't play the piano, even an electronic one. He tried very hard not to laugh at the old joke; it would undoubtedly be very painful.

?

When George Quiller heard that Green ("Must remember to call him Hahn") had regained consciousness he was glad he hadn't had the plug pulled. Liz ("No, Annette") hadn't been nearly as screaming hysterical when she had come over as he had expected, but he could tell, even without reading her mind, that she was very close to a violent break. The last comments on the file Quiller had gotten on her had convinced him that he didn't want to be in her proximity if she ever went berserk. Especially if he was anywhere near a wall socket, car battery, street lamp, or anything else that had enough electrical juice to stop his heart if properly applied. What she had done to Lestrange in the interrogation chamber had proven conclusively that she wasn't an attractive, intelligent, affectionate, and _harmless _young lady. He also still wasn't sure if Lestrange had just been having an aftereffect from the drugs they had pumped him up with for the performance, or if Annette had taken a more active role in the Wizard's death.

Thank goodness Longbottom had come over with her. A control rod in the reactor, so to speak. He seemed a little… dull… for the vivacious girl, but that was her problem. And it meant that AGER still had some viable cut-outs when dealing with the Wizards.

Quiller wondered why she had had him send for the Duggan fellow. It seemed strange that she would need help from another computer jock; on her last trip to Britain she had essentially taken over every supercomputer in the country, customized a set of invisible backdoors, and set up a "rootkit" network that could pretty much access every security-camera or electronically controlled device she could possibly need. The joke that over in the States she was called "Queen of the Data Stream" had gotten less funny when she had sat in on a meeting and had pushed her agenda through by citing every piece of information on a dozen topics that could crippled her opponent's arguments. The fact that she had never been cleared for any of that, or even had physical access for most of her needed documents simply hadn't mattered. She was the only fifteen year old girl who could simultaneously launch the combined nuclear arsenals of every such equipped nation on earth, and not stop chattering about wanting to go shopping at the same time.

According to the hospital staff, she had showed up and barged into Hahn's room before they were even sure enough of Otto's state to send on a Change in Status Report to the telephone numbers listed on his Next-of-Kin forms. The girl must have been electronically listening in continuously while she had been going on all over Muggle and Wizarding London and… Quiller looked at the report of the tail he had set on her as soon as she had come in country… checking out supplies of fluoridated aluminum and PBXN-112, whatever those things were. Perhaps she had a school chemistry assignment due when she went home.

Still, the important thing right now was that Otto was recovering, and it was only a matter of time until Quiller's useful but disruptive guests were winging their way back home and he could get back to finishing off this little exercise in controlling necromantic terrorists. Who knew; perhaps this practice might become useful in the real world some day?

?

Neville sat back in the chair in the corner of the hospital room and listened with a smile as Leo and Liz had a slow-motion argument. He wasn't sure if the contest was unfair to Leo, who had almost no breath and was recovering from every sort of exhaustion known to Normal or Wizard due to his injuries and the suites of medicines he had been subjected to. Or it might be unfair to Liz; trying to convince her weak and fragile big brother that she was right, while not overstraining him and causing a relapse. As far as the merits of their arguments, well, Neville really didn't have a preference. Just because Liz was his girlfriend didn't make him eager to start teaching Wizarding Britain the dubious joys of Death From Above. Just because Leo was an experienced, trained, and cold-blooded operative didn't mean that he was necessarily correct that more time and information gathering were essential, rather than immediate and forceful action. Perhaps… perhaps Liz _was_ being a trifle over-eager right now. In any case, Leo was definitely running down, his eyes flickering shut and opening again. Finally, forcing himself to make a small beckoning gesture, Leo lifted his head and had Liz come closer to hear clearly the last things he had the energy to say right then.

After a few seconds she pulled away, he let his head fall back onto the pillow as his eyes closed, and she did those little blanket-adjusting things the able did when they're leaving the room of invalids and don't know what else to do.

As they left the room, to the relief of the medical staff who had been bullied into letting the patient have visitors impossibly too soon after waking up, Neville put a question to his girl, remembering to stay in character.

"So, what did Otto have to say, there at the end?"

"Three things; he's always doin' things like that. First something from Mach… Machiavelli. 'Do no small injuries.' Then that old thing, 'Revenge is a dish best eaten cold.'"

"_Three_ things?"

"Well, you know; just 'love ya' sis.'"

With that she tucked her arm under his and burrowed her head into his shoulder. They walked out of the hospital and into the city like that. Neville felt very warm, and very strong, and very protective.

?

Lord Voldemort had taken his followers from Malfoy Manor within hours of finding out that the survivors of the family had fled. There hadn't been enough time to do a proper revenge-wrecking, but such petty and adolescent vandalism as was possible had been hastily done. That as soon as they had left the House-Elves had come out of hiding and cleaned up the filth excreted onto the floors, and the vulgar graffiti, was immaterial. The damage done had been mostly symbolic, and was really only a message to the Death Eaters doing it; that it was more a sad and futile sort of revenge than the statement of a terrible crew of master sorcerers escaped almost all of them. Not Vince Crabbe or Greg Goyle though.

"We've come to this, Vince, _this_? Pissing in corners and drawing mustaches on portraits comes next I guess!"

"When Draco got people het up about the Heir of Slytherin, back in Second Year, it was more clever and neat," Crabbe admitted.

Draco was a bit of a sore point between them right now. Greg felt that he should have invited them along when he cut out, while Vince was of the opinion that practical considerations probably had a lot to do with how Draco had managed his escape. Certainly two fleeing was easier to set up than arranging for four, and Draco _had_ to make sure his mother had got out. All of those Lestranges were weird; who'd want one for their foster dad?

Vince was sure that Greg was most upset because he thought Draco hadn't trusted them to follow him, or at least not betray the escape. Well, it was different between them. Vince still respected Draco, but having a mother and father both with the Dark Mark and eager to get into the fray put Vince in a different situation from Greg; he was pretty well committed to the cause by them. Greg had no home left, really, and the Malfoys had sort of become his family after his dad died. This was funny, in a way, because the way Vince remembered it, it was that_ he_ and Draco that were actually second cousins. In fact, now that he thought of it, Vince realized that he was also a cousin to Bellatrix Lestrange; a scary thought.

Right now the whole organization was scurrying about, readying for the next big thing. Messengers were always leaving and returning, and all the hidden "sleeper" members without Dark Marks or any past history were being alerted. True, the Cause had taken some hard knocks lately, but that was just the reason they had to double up their efforts and cease all questioning of the Dark Lord's orders, right? Do it like last time, but this time better!

Greg was of a different opinion; after all, he said, when you were playing Quidditch and you tried a play that went bust you didn't repeat it the very next time you got the Quaffle, did you? You had to have a little variety in your game plan.

Actually, Vince didn't really disagree with that; he thought that the Dark Lord might not have been a Quidditch fan when he was in school or something. Still, in loyalty, he just repeated that dedication and blind obedience was what would get them through to victory. And if this one didn't work, just double the effort again until it did. If he hadn't had Greg around to have friendly arguments with, Vince would have gone spare. Despite the fact they hadn't possibly been involved in the Malfoy's escape (being heavily involved with Pansy trying to prove she didn't need Draco _in the least_ for most of the night) they were in slightly worse odor with the surviving inner circle than most of the unproven and… outer circle. Vince was sort of glad Draco had arranged to keep them able to answer honestly that they had not had any knowledge of the escape; when Professor Snape looked you in your eyes it was like someone was twisting gimlets into your skull!

Vince was becoming certain that sooner or later Greg was going to bolt. He knew he couldn't rat out his best friend, but he knew he couldn't join him.

?

They had chatted for a few moments first, the sympathetic boss and the invalid agent. The young man's questions about his girlfriend had been a bit tough to handle. There was no way now that Leo could resume his eccentric romance with the gossip columnist; Otto Hahn had to remain dead to her or too many questions would end up being asked, and perhaps answered. Luckily, he was a pro, and accepted that. To lighten the mood Quiller discussed his problems with keeping Liz out of trouble; her desire to set up baroque little schemes, and her enthusiastic shopping trips for the oddest things.

That was when Leo had explained to George Quiller what you could do with fluoridated Aluminum (or Aluminium, depending on which side of the Pond you came from), and PBXN-112, and why he thought his sister should be discouraged from playing with them. Frankly, Leo had been surprised to discover that Quiller had been left out of loop about the small business of building massive bombs to drop on assorted country homes throughout the Isles. Now Leo expected Liz to get on his case for telling the man supposed to be in charge of all violent AGER activities in Britain and the Continent about her plans; another aggravation he didn't need. She was a certified genius; she had more papers proving it than a pedigreed racehorse had backing its claim to be allowed to run in the Kentucky Derby, how could she have not seen that Quiller had to give his approval before any doomsday machine could be built? If she had let her big brother know that their host and boss (for this operation) was being kept in the dark he would have told her to that she should be the one to inform Quiller. Now that was too late.

George Quiller sat in the comfortable chair next to the hospital bed they'd set up in a room of the latest secure house, and concentrated on getting his heart rate below 150 beats per minute. There was the young man lying in bed, still with more drips and needles in him than a pincushion, worrying about his superior's health. Quiller had thought that Leo, while an effective agent, was annoyingly independent, inventive, and free-wheeling. He had now just discovered that Leo was, in fact, the calm, staid, and cautious one in the family. Elizabeth, on the other hand, had evidently taken a running leap over that fine line that separated genius from madness.

"So, a constant mist of Psi Inhibitor, ship her back over to her mother, keep Longbottom here with a promise to kill him if we hear about her getting frisky, and Bob's your uncle!"

Quiller was gratified to see the look of stunned disbelief pass over Green's face at the string of folly, bad humor, and idiocy he had just been offered. Not being able to get inside either of the Greens' heads was a stumbling block for properly evaluating their mental states; and Quiller had been forced to use indirect methods to get a reaction. Unfortunately, Leo tried to take a deep breath to give him the strength to answer the verbal serve that had just been lobbed over the conversational net, and began to cough, painfully. Quiller chided himself. Picking on an invalid, especially one he knew was a willing subordinate, had been both cruel and unwise.

When Leo was finally able to speak again he diffidently outlined a modest sounding (at least) program for dealing with the current situation. Liz to be formally declared an active Agent by Fermi, back in the States, seconded to Quiller. Leo to be liaison (though not necessarily exclusively) to Black, with Liz and Neville directly under him. No covert action or surveillance instituted by Leo's subunit without being approval directly by Quiller. The materials for two devices to be collected (with one constructed) held under AGER in Britain central control, not to be released or delivery arrangements made without Quiller's express approval. Duggan, directly under Quiller, was to be the authorized agent in control of the device. Increased information flow to Leo's sub-unit, and consideration of proposals and recommendations it produced in a timely manner. The development of non-electronic procedures of information and instruction transmittal for storage and release of certain critical messages and commands. And most importantly, let Leo deal with disciplining Liz.

Quiller felt a bit guilty setting up the young man, even though he knew that Leo understood exactly what had happened. Still, it was always better to let people volunteer for an unpleasant duty than to bully them into it. After telling Leo that he and Liz were going to be put on full-pay for the duration, Quiller accepted all his proposals, and promised to get Fermi to sign off on it within the day. Promising to look over a threat assessment Leo said he'd send over later that day, Quiller left, feeling he had done a good day's (or at least morning's) work. He didn't expect someone less than 48 hours from a week's-long coma to do anything but sleep and heal for the next few days. Yet somehow he didn't really feel all that surprised when a three page, rationally argued list of the possible near-term Death Eater targets (with preliminary suggestions for countermeasures) showed up on his desk before he went home that night.

?

"So Neville, you agree to work as part of this group? Consider carefully before signing the contract in blood!" Leo felt he had been a little more off on his Lugosi impersonation than usual.

"Oh, I think a verbal agreement will be enough, or do you doubt my word as the head of the awesomely great House of Longbottom, cur? Yes, I think that's just the right note." Neville gave a nod; he felt he had nailed that one perfectly.

"Works for me. I'm glad you're getting that 'you should be glad I'm willing to talking to you, you insect' voice down right. From what I hear it will be useful when you start dodging questions in your Wizengamot.

"Now, as your beloved Fearless Leader, I want you to go outside for while, and close the door behind you. Do not come in to deal with the yelling, screaming, and sound of breaking furniture. Liz, you stay here."

As Neville left the room he wondered how bad things were going to get. Liz had been elated when she had intercepted her activation order from Fermi at the same time the orbiting satellite had bounced it down to AGER Britain's receiver. When the official phone call from Quiller had come putting her in a group with Leo in charge it hadn't fazed her, she had figured that with Leo laid up they could get away with pretty much anything they wanted. Though when they had got there, except for not being able to move around the room, it had seemed much the regular old Leo in there today. This probably meant he really should stay in the next room while the shouts were shouted and the furniture broken. He had seen enough Ron and Ginny matches to not want to get between an older brother trying to be assertive, and a powerful younger sister wanting to be independent. Not something he wanted to intrude in until everything was settled.

It was over forty-five minutes before Liz came out. While there had been a good bit of shouting, audible if not understandable coming through the door, all high pitched, Neville didn't think that he had actually heard furniture breaking. Leo was probably the only person that Neville totally trusted not to get totally freaked out and frustrated enough to lose control when Liz was in full rant and flow. Still, it had hurt him not to be in there protecting and supporting her, somehow.

When she came out she had tear streaks down her cheeks, and a need to blow her nose. Neville fished out a handkerchief and looked away a little while she cleaned herself up. When she was done he looked at her, and the look asked his question.

"Yeah, we toe the line and it's 'Yes Sir, No Sir, Three Bags Full Sir!"

"Not like you to give up so easily. Did he promise you a pony?"

At that she punched Neville in the arm, hard.

"I had all these beautiful facts and plans and everything, and all he had was these logic chains all set up eight deep. In the end it pretty much came down to another bunch of his old sayings."

Her voice became sarcastic and sing-songy.

"'Just because you can doesn't mean you should,' and 'if you do that you'll be just like them,' and after that I think it was 'and they made a desert, and called it Peace.' And yes, I know that those are all good things to know, and are wise and everything. But I have ta' _do_ something. Hermione and Harry and Luna and Ron and Julia and the baby and Sirius and _you _are in danger every minute until they're all finished off.

"And then I started to play dirty and I brought up how he's the one always going and getting hurt being Mr. White Knight, and I brought up family stuff. Stuff I never told you 'cause it was about the really bad times we've had at home, worse than Daddy just being so rotten. That's why I was cryin', I was so ashamed of myself for doing that."

Liz stopped talking for a moment, and took on that particular blank expression Neville know meant that she was using her various Psi talents to scan if they were being monitored or observed. Then she snuggled up against his chest, and whispered into his ear.

"Ya gotta keep all this stuff secret; hide it away where no one can find it. Leo, he went on a trip down to where Dad's folks come from. Well, I guess you know that. Anyway he found a place that sort of leaked… a gate… stuff from somewhere else was coming in and trying to adapt to this world. And it was_ hungry_. Most of the big brains back home are trying to figure out how to handle that, someone long ago found a sort of Band-aid, but it's breaking down. So that's why there's this big thing lately on Quantum dots and strings and things; they're trying to figure how to make a real repair to the walls between places. Leo stopped some sort of first probe, but it was like a bee stingin' an elephant. And now he's breaking up inside, and he's making all his usual sorta' plans about how to handle not becoming something horrible. I can't save him, darling, I can't!"

"Liz, he's not going to fall apart today, and from the look of it, he won't tomorrow either. We live each day as it comes. And at the end we offer such mercy as we may."

She accepted his bitter consolation; there was nothing better in the offing. He had heard bits and pieces over the last year that now added up as confirmation of Liz's story. He knew he would have to talk with Leo about this, and offer what help his wizardry could afford. Come to think of it, if they survived to the end of Voldemort's War, Neville doubted that Harry and Hermione and the bunch could be kept out joining in on the effort. It lent him a bit of greater confidence as he comforted his love.


	62. Chapter 62

I do not own, or receive and profit, from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

By Larry Huss

Chapter 62-Prelude

There he was, walking down the street in Diagon Alley, and nobody was paying Gregory Goyle the least bit of attention. True, he had been wearing a mask the last time he had visited the heart of Wizarding Britain, but he felt that surely _somebody_ should have known it was him doing violence and horrible things. OK, maybe it was more in the line of simple assault and vandalism, but still it was hard to prepare yourself for arrest and rough treatment, and find out that no one else seemed to know that you deserved it. Maybe he'd have to turn himself directly in to the Aurors to get the attention he thought he deserved.

It was as he was passing in front of Gringotts that things at last started to get moving. A poncey looking gent, in his twenties, came walking up to him, all smiling. Greg had a fair idea of what was going to be offered; not something someone who looked like him was usually the recipient of. All things considered it would probably be better to just tell the git to bugger off, rather than make a more physical statement of his non-interest. Greg wanted to get picked up by Aurors, not just picked up. He also didn't want to risk getting hexed to death if the fellow didn't take rejection well, and turned out to be better at dueling than he looked.

"Mr. Goyle, I presume? Perhaps it will be best if we sit down, take a cup of coffee, and discuss your options in a nice, quiet place? This way, please."

Greg was a bit startled, and also gratified, that the fellow actually knew his name. This was more like it! If you had just burned your last bridge behind you, at least there should be a _little_ response from the… enemy… your new side… whatever. And it also meant that he wasn't being ignored or disdained as just a punk kid. That, as much as anything else, had been the final straw that had made him leave Voldemort's latest refuge. He had to admit to himself that an increasingly brutal air of hedonism and excess had been growing, as if the Death Eaters where trying to cover up the slowly rising stink of defeat and despair with the odor of blood. He had finally come around to Draco's opinion that brutality to further the cause you were willing to risk your life for was excusable, barely. Just being a cruel bastard for the hell of it made the Cause dirty by association. He certainly hadn't become a Muggle or Mudblood lover, but if being Pureblood meant you were better you should bloody well act it! At least that was what Gregg thought Draco and Mrs. Malfoy would have said, and they were his gold standard for Pureblood behavior.

So he followed the man out to the **Cauldron,** where instead of just ordering something hot and wet, the fellow got some Floo powder, grabbed the young man, and pulled him into the fire to an unknown destination.

?

Nathan Duggan looked down on his completed project with a look of tired satisfaction. When he had agreed to build the Infernal Device he had expected to just copy the thing out from the blueprints, and to have a gang of techie helpers to do all the heavy lifting (when you are dealing with a five ton explosive device there will certainly be a good deal of heavy lifting), and scut work. Instead, a whole slew of limitations on materials and dimensions had come down from the HQ of AGER-Britain, making him have to pretty much redesign a huge, unguided gravity bomb into a much smaller, steerable, gliding weapon. Then there was the trouble he'd had to go through to steal Neville away from Liz Green long enough to get the fuses, control servos, and command links secured against Magical interference. He'd been working harder during what he had expected to be a semi-holiday than he ever did back in the States.

Now it was finished; a thousand-pound payload bomb that could be launched from a light cargo plane in flight (a Short SC.7 Skyvan), and glide for over five miles, all the while under control from the plane. Not even noticing any Muggle repelling charms or the general chaos electronic devices succumb to when near a high magical environment (or Thaumic Field, Neville liked to call it). With both electrical and purely chemical/mechanical fuses it should work well even if it hit a majorly warded location. Nate knew he couldn't have done it nearly so quickly if he hadn't been able to transfer some of the design features of his Robot Wars entry. Fortune favors the geekish mind!

He was even prouder that he had beaten the ever tightening deadlines without missing a single meeting of the Bloomsbury Anime Society that met weekly at the main campus of London University. Or (and especially) not missing any nights of pub crawling with the computer/SF/fantasy geek role-playing bunch that was an outgrowth of the Society. For some reason there were more girls in it than similar groups back home, and English girls seemed to find his southern Massachusetts accent "cute." He didn't see it himself, but far be it from him to put a strain on the friendly relations existing between the US and UK.

?

No one else in his room, no one approaching the door; good. Leo Green slid off his bed and grabbed the invalid's walker parked next to it, and began to exercise, and think. He did his best thinking when he was moving. Now that the last of the tubes were disconnected from him he could finally get around without dragging (and frequently knocking over) wheeled stands with bottles and bags of fluids meant to drip into him. Now all he had to do was take pills. He could palm the pain-killers without being caught, and flush them down the toilet at his leisure. He hated the feeling he had when his head was fuzzed up with narcotics. And it was certainly about time someone was thinking clearly around here!

If the Death Eaters went back to their tactics from the first war, and attacked isolated families at random and with overwhelming force, nothing less than an elaborate communications and transportation system would have to be put in place. Also there should be a tripling (at least) of the Aurors and other forces arrayed against them. The Wizarding government was too inept and inefficient to do that quickly. Luckily Voldemort was definitely acting more egomaniacal and… plain loony.

Leo had a theory about that, but none of the magical types he had broached it to had been able to give him any real evaluation of it. When you get down to it, Voldemort had lived (or at least existed) for over an extra decade by now with his soul divided up even more un-naturally than last time. And lately bits of that soul had been either killed, or banished from the world, depending on your viewpoint. With that kind of damage going on his rationality, never the strong suit (it seemed) of Wizards anyway, seemed greatly compromised. He simply didn't seem to be able to think of playing a slow, long game anymore. What he had been doing, what he was going to do (and soon), was something dramatic and make-or-break-it.

So…what were the critical and vulnerable points of Wizarding Britain? The Ministry, Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade Village, and Hogwarts School seemed to cover it. Voldemort would strike at one of those nerve centers, but which one was unclear. Hold on; with Wizarding transportation it wasn't just one that was in danger, forces could be shifted quickly from one place to another quick enough to make a feint at one of the base locations (London or Scotland), and then shift to the other.

The central controls of the Floo network were located in the Ministry. That _had_ to be a prime target. Diagon Alley had already been hit, but by now a second strike at it would find everybody with a brain in their heads with some sort of escape route planned; damage there would be comparatively light, or at least the cost in lives would be.

Hogsmeade, as the only all-magical town in Britain, was a prestige target. It really sort of blended into Hogwarts as a target; they were less than a half mile apart. Hogwarts… library, incredibly strong magical defenses (if they could be seized intact), and hostages. A thousand hostages, from almost every powerful family in Magical Britain. Burn the town, and take the school? Leo tried to sink into a properly sociopathic state of mind and work out the likelihood.

Back and forth, back and forth he went. Ignoring the pain; no… using it to get into a proper Voldemort frame of mind. Curse on the DADA position, infiltrating it time and again, and being chased out repeatedly. Yes, definitely at least one target would be Hogwarts. Now the question was concentration of force, or amateur dispersal of effort? Amateur for sure! Plus the advantages of taking (at least long enough to wreck the Floo system) the Ministry as a propaganda stunt, and to divert Aurors from going up north until the school was taken and the wards raised were obvious.

Now to work on a proper set of responses and preparations: First…

?

Neville had managed to get her to agree to him not getting the black leather jacket with the chrome studs and looping chains. There were things he could be very firm about, even with Liz. A plain and dignified Bomber jacket in brown leather with the sheepskin collar, was certainly enough to prove he could be less tight-arsed. Just because she had shown him a picture of Leo in the full biker gear, with hair in a god-awful state, didn't mean_ he _was going to go that far! It wasn't until they were out of the store, with the jacket on his back, that she admitted that Leo had only been wearing that kind of stuff because he had been doing some undercover work at the time. That he really hated looking like that, and the only thing of the outfit he had saved was the studded leather wrist band as a tool. Neville wasn't sure how that sort of thing could be a tool, but felt much relieved about Leo's fashion sense.

As they walked down the streets of Muggle London, the girl at his side cheerfully singing "Dance Band on the Titanic" (her favorite song after "Thirty Thousand Pounds of Bananas"; she was a big Harry Chapin fan), Neville realized that all day he had been thinking of abnormal things. That is, nothing that involved spies, plots, battle tactics, booby traps, or bombs. Instead he had been feeling relief that he had just finished his OWLS that morning, and felt he had done very well at them.

Grandmother had pulled strings (the fact that the person in charge of such things was not only an old schoolmate, but a cousin, had helped), and gotten him a chance to take them early. He had been worried, but with coaching by Liz on the purely academic things, and the extensive charm and runes work he'd been doing for months, he hadn't had a problem with any of the tests or demonstrations. Not even Potions! Now he had a night out on the town… at least until the one AM curfew that Grandmother had given him… and a hot girlfriend who wanted to show him some of night spots she had been to with Leo on their previous visit to England. Now he just had to steer a course between the dictates and advice he had gotten from his personal authority figures. Grandmother's "you will not compromise this young lady's reputation, Neville." That had to be balanced against Sirius's "you're only young once, and so is she. Take advantage of it." He felt, in the end, it would probably be up to Liz and him how (and how far) this evening went. He couldn't wait to find out.

When they finally came stumbling through the Floo at Longbottom Manor at about 2:30 AM, with Neville sporting a slowly blooming black eye, Augusta Longbottom was waiting for them in the Receiving Room with a definite look of irritation. Before she could shift from Withering Look ™ to Scathing Comment ™ Liz Green burst out in frantic explanation: "It wasn't our fault, really!"

Deciding to give them further rope to hang themselves with, Mrs. Longbottom continued her Withering Look ™. Neville took up the conversational burden.

"We went to a few places, really nice ones, until it was just about time to come home. The last place had evidently taken a down-turn since Liz had been there last, and a lower class of clientele had started to hang out there. Well… we were leaving when a bunch of chavs came over and tried to sell us something. We, of course, weren't buying, and tried to leave when one of them became… "

Liz took over the thread of conversation. "He just kinda' grabbed me, and told me to drop Nev and get with his bunch and really party. And he wouldn't let go. Well, I sort of… reacted… and then…"

Neville continued, "And as he lay there on the ground, groaning in agony, his friends took exception to Liz's perfectly reasonable rejection of his offer, and the riot began. That's how I got this," he said as he touched his left eye gingerly.

"How did my grandson acquit himself in the… scuffle?" Augusta Longbottom inquired.

"Gave better'n he got, even if he was outnumbered." Liz Green said, with pride.

"Then you should both get cleaned up and get to bed, as you have a long day scheduled tomorrow, after all," Augusta said, suppressing a smile. It was true that she didn't think that Frank and Alice would never have gotten themselves caught up in a riot, but Neville was really growing up to be his own man, wasn't he?

?

Gregory Goyle was exhausted. He had been sitting in the room with the metal chairs and table, and the white tiles on the walls and floor, for hours. The same questions had been asked of him, again and again. Sometimes it was the man, John, asking while the woman (Marge) took notes. Sometimes it was the other way around. They weren't cruel; he had been fed, given things to drink, and had been allowed to the loo whenever he needed to. They had taken his wand as soon as he had gotten there, of course. He had taken that as a gesture of appropriate respect. After all, if you didn't take a Wizard's wand in a situation like this one, you really had to despise his ability to be a danger if he got offended.

At last the interrogation wound down. John looked up from his notes, and caught Marge's eye. She gave a small nod, and he left the room. Marge commented after the man was out of earshot that John had probably gone to get oil all over that Hecate of his; the man was in a serious relationship there. Greg wondered why Vince and he had never thought of doing that with Pansy.

In any case, now was when he'd learn what would be happening to him.

"Now, Mr. Goyle, I'm sure you understand that it is very unlikely that you will be allowed to participate actively in any of the ongoing operations of the Ministry and its allied forces. However, it would be very unsafe for you to be allowed to just wander around freely."

Ah, thought Greg to himself, this is where they tell me how long I'm to be in the clink.

The woman continued: "Accordingly you will be sent to a safe house, well out of the way, and will stay there, not going beyond a five mile radius, for the duration of the current situation. The place is currently occupied by Mr. Malfoy, and Lady Malfoy, but has more than sufficient space for you. Are these conditions acceptable to you? They have said that they would have no objection to your presence."

He'd be with Draco and Lady Malfoy? Able to wander about, _not in a cell? _ "I think I can put up with it, if they can, for a while."

?

Late the next morning George Quiller looked again at the reports of the Goyle interrogation. Then at the reports coming in of the sudden lack of sightings of known or suspected Death Eaters. Finally, he picked up a phone and dialed a number he had not wanted to.

"Hello, Otto." No reason to break cover, even over a secure phone-line. "It looks like it's on."


	63. Chapter 63

I do not own, or receive any profit, from the Harry Potter Properties.

Out of the West

By Larry Huss

Chapter 63- Advantages of Initiative

"While it presents us with a number of problems, the concentration of Death Eaters and their sympathizers allows us to set in operation a series of countermeasures that we could not do earlier. We lack the numbers of useful operatives which would allow us to station garrisons of effective size at the various potential targets on a permanent basis. Either this is the real thing, or at the worst it will allow us a dry-fire exercise to iron out the inevitable administrative shortcomings of any plan."

Neville thought Leo's little speech was very impressive, coming from a young man, barely able to vote, to a bunch of older and more experienced agents. And Neville, Liz, and Nate Duggan too, of course. Neville had been working with Sirius on charming up a series of linked mirrors for communication; each of the observation or action groups would have at least one in addition to their radios. Those were as protected as WizTech (the name Neville, Nate, and Liz had figured out for the company they would run when things settled down) could make them against magical interference.

George Quiller took over the meeting, mainly to close it. "Observations teams One through Three will set up their protections. These will only last for two days at the unfortunate rate we'll be making them drain, but they should restrict enemy mobility into the indicated control areas. Teams A, B and C will relieve them in twelve hours.

"Group M will proceed to its station, Groups B, S, and R will be held in reserve, while 'Puff 'will be held on ten minute alert. You know the communications protocols, so it's time to go and play rough."

There was surprisingly little muttering as the meeting broke up. Team One was on its way to set up anti-Apparition wards around 10 Downing Street, Team Two around the Royals' current residence, and Three to see if something could be done about Parliament.

Neville patted the secret weapon in his pocket as he went over to say goodbye to Liz. There were too many people around for him to give the sort of leave taking he really wanted to, but he did his best. Liz was still a bit ticked about not being with him, but Leo and Neville had finally convinced her, at least intellectually, that she wouldn't be nearly at her best if she was trying to protect her fiancé all the time. You had to give Leo credit; he was either the world's biggest romantic, or its most cynical mind manipulator. Springing that one on her had softened her up to agreeing to their temporary assignment on different teams.

Then Neville collected John Quartermain from the hastily set up coffee lounge and set to work getting a Muggle with an obvious giant boy-toy through both regular London and onto Platform 9 ¾ , where they would be meeting up with Moody for the trip up to Scotland. As usual, when Moody and Quartermain got together Neville felt as if he was six years old again, a child among the grownups. Both Wizard and Emergent (though Moody didn't really know that Quartermain wasn't just the oddest sort of magic user) had a similarity that allowed half spoken, grim, little jokes to be mutually understood. Neville expected he would never really understand them until he could kill someone as casually as snuffing out a candle. Neville wondered if he would be able to avoid failing to pull his weight, as he felt he had back in the Greenhouse months ago, or if he would be the man he thought Liz thought he was.

?

Bellatrix Lestrange was smiling; she had been having a series of very good weeks. First Narcissa and Draco escaping, followed by Rabastan having a losing argument with some sort of Muggle wagon, then another of the little kiddies taking to their heels, and now the gathering of the faithful in preparation for glory or break-neck! She loved that sort of a plan; it was quick, exciting, and it finished all sorts of boring hiding and scheming that always seemed to come to so little in final results. There were so many faces she hadn't seen in years, some not since school, or even parties at her parents' house back when she was still a child. None of them had even tried to see her in Azkaban, or send her any packages. And now, with the great culmination coming up, so many of them would be crippled or die, no matter how things turned out. Yes, it was time to get this Muggle Fire Drill on the road! Bellatrix Lestrange was smiling.

Lord Voldemort wasn't smiling, or if he was it was hard to tell from his inhuman face. His wounded, empty, eye socket had stopped oozing pus, but the latest attempt of repairing the damage had failed again. More and more often he would… not sleep exactly, but fall into an almost reptilian torpor and dream, or remember (he couldn't tell which, anymore) he was little Tom Riddle, hanging onto a slippery roof edge by the last digits of one cramping hand.

But this time for sure, this time for certain, his plans would give him what he wanted. All the power he could want, all his enemies in the palm of his hand to crush. More and more he had been coming to the realization that even his best followers were deeply flawed. They were either potential traitors, actual fools, or raving mad, like poor Bella. Still, each could be useful, after their fashion. This time his audacity would overwhelm his enemies; they'd never suspect he'd strike at the five nerve centers of Britain, both Muggle and Magical, at once!

?

The harsh, oily odors offended Draco Malfoy's nose; the chill breeze leaking through the Muggle vehicle's metal hide made him shiver, and whoever had made the tea in the flimsy cup he held in both hands, trying to get them warm, had no idea how to brew a proper cup. The gangling red-head fiddling with the giant metal barrel in the center of the skyvan had an inane little smile on his face. Draco had paid attention at his briefing; he was in a skyvan, it was even supposed to fly, though how something so large and heavy was supposed to lift off the ground was beyond him. The world's biggest magic carpet, with a dozen brooms helping, wouldn't have been able to lift the whole ramshackle mess up. The worse part of it all was that guarding this was the most important part he'd managed to get in this war, from either side.

The gingerly way the big thing had been maneuvered into the skyvan had convinced Malfoy that he wasn't being pushed off to the side; whatever it was, and whatever they meant to do with it, was important enough that they wanted it guarded full-time. So Draco Malfoy and some Muggle (who had evidently built the contraption, and was here to make sure it worked right) were here guarding it turn and turn about, as it sat the skyvan in front of a long, grassy, sloped field on some military base that had been officially closed for the last forty years. Their driver was allowed to sit in a nice warm hut, and come to think of it, it had been the driver (pilot? Draco didn't see any sails on it, for it to need a pilot) who had brought out the thin and tasteless dishwater currently cooling off in the paper cup he was holding.

There was a buzzing noise going on and off from up front, where the comfortable seats were. The Muggle, Duggan, went up and flipped some toggle or other, putting half of a set of earmuffs up to his head. He nodded his head, then turned to Malfoy.

"Make sure that the guy that'll be coming in here is the real pilot, and he's working for us."

Somehow he didn't seem like the same cheerful Muggle anymore; he seemed more like those Cathayans who had come to the Draco's little refuge in Wales and looked him up and down before asking him if he wanted to do some work. Mother had wanted him to pass it up, but it was obvious to the new head of the House of Malfoy that the only way to keep the family from being crushed in the postwar settlement was if the Death Eaters lost, and Malfoy was a name associated with the victorious side. Greg had wanted to come also, but was told that he was to be Mother's bodyguard; she had been promised protection when she'd come over, and they knew he'd be loyal to her. Greg had still been pissed at being kept out of things, but Draco had seen how much Mother had appreciated not being left alone while waiting to hear how it all came out.

So Draco Malfoy used the half dozen spells he had been rehearsing for the last few days. As the "pilot" came in he was hit with a Finite Incantatem, then the Stealth Sensing spell, and finally Malfoy shot out some detection spells behind the man, to see if there were any invisible followers trying to follow him inside. All clear, and Draco was still congratulating himself on a job well done when he heard the windmill things start up, and the whole vehicle start to move, bumping over the ruts, forward. As he looked out of one of the portholes he felt the floor under his feet give a little lurch, then everything got smoother. And he saw himself getting higher and higher, and far faster than he had ever been on a broom.

He turned to Duggan and began to ask questions about Muggle flying, and seriously listening to the answers. That's how one casual comment led to another, and Draco Malfoy learned about hang gliding.

?

Attempting to use Apparition to suddenly appear outside 10 Downing Street and then storm it, taking the Muggle Prime Minister prisoner, the assigned Death Eater team failed completely when none of them could pop into the nearby street. It took them a good fifteen minutes to agree to an area far enough away that the wards protecting the site weren't able to prevent their transportation. When they finally got to the place, attracting startled glances all the way, the normal security detail… led on this occasion by the suddenly-revealed Chief Inspector (Special Branch) Shacklebolt… quickly subdued them.

If, afterwards, none of the detachment could remember exactly why there were vague, but glowing, recommendations on their personnel files, all of them accepted that a good report beat a poor one any day. Even if it was a bit odd that the whole tour of duty now seemed to have been completely without incident.

?

On the other hand, the wards around Parliament were stretched too far. If it hadn't been a Friday afternoon when Parliament wasn't sitting, much evil would have been done. The MFC observation team reported a number of befuddled tour groups wondering if the robed and masked people wandering around confusedly were another ancient tradition, like beating the bounds.

?

The assault on Buckingham Palace started off with a rush, as the leader had taken the effort to actual infiltrate it (against his Dread Lord's orders to avoid potentially alerting their prey) several days earlier, and gotten a feel for the lay of the land. The area itself had been too large to possibly attempt to ward, and the initial insertion went as planned. The scattered servants were either immobilized, or left writhing on the ground in agony as Voldemort's troops ruthlessly advanced inward toward the royal apartments.

A pitched battle erupted when the security detachment from the nearby Wellington Barracks intercepted the wizards and caught them in a crossfire with a blocking group of police bodyguards. If they (the Death Eaters) had survived and broken through they might have actually found the royal couple; Prince Philip with a set of double barreled shotguns at the ready, and his wife prepared to act as loader.

Afterwards the Official Secrets Act was invoked, and the damage to the structure was ascribed to an electrical fire. That home of royalty merely had another (and not the most odd one, at that) secret to store amongst its many others.

?

The Death Eater unit that assaulted the Ministry of Magic building was well familiar with the place, and knew a dozen ways in to get to all the prime targets. The Minister, however, had an unexpected secret way out, booby trapped to any who tried to follow him, and escaped. The seizure of most of the other offices and centers of power went quickly. Execution of resistors and Blood Traitors took place instantly as they were identified. The two Weasleys, Beatty, Fisher and Cochrane were all on duty in the Ministry, and were eliminated for those reasons. The Department of Mysteries was the singular exception; it was, since the latest purge of Death Eater sympathizers, terra incognita. The Unspeakables had also set up their own security system lately, and the survivors of the assault team against it retreated and simply tried to seal it off. What little they could hear of the actions taking place in the Department made them very uneasy.

When a small detachment of Special Deputies arrived with special authorizations from the currently out-of-communication Minister, the beleaguered group of Aurors who had escaped the initial rush just checked their papers (a combination of forging at the molecular level, and improvements on the magic work that had gotten Potter in as the Fourth Champion at the Triwizard Tournament), and accepted them as a useful reinforcement. As the normal communications and rallying mechanisms for the Aurors were currently under enemy control they had no other way to check anyhow. That the reinforcement was limited to Sirius Black (a former Auror himself), Lupin (an ex-Professor at Hogwarts), Tonks (who everyone knew, and underrated), a cane-using, limping young man who practically disappeared into the woodwork, and a young witch who was being followed by a score of odd little clockwork footstools with wheely things, really didn't matter. Any port in a storm, as the saying goes in all worlds.

The Special Deputies even took the lead position, cleaning out rooms and corridors in a methodical manner, as if they had trained and had planned for it. As off-duty Aurors managed to show up and tried to find out why everything seemed to have gone to hell, they were organized into flank security and occupation teams to prevent Death Eater infiltration back into cleared areas.

The Special Deputies had a set pattern of operation. First, Remus Lupin would Transfigure whatever was handy into a bunch of balls of about two pounds weight. Then the limping man would send them rolling and bounding down the corridor, or across the floor of wherever they were heading. This would usually set off any random traps that had been hastily set up by the invaders. If the way seemed clear a bunch of rubble, Transfigured into rabbits, was sent out into the area, or one of the wheely things (trailing a black line) would go across the open space to either draw fire or confirm safety. If there was directed magical opposition it usually couldn't stand up to the flurry of spells the Deputies could launch when augmented with the nearest regular Aurors they could grab; after all the Ministry was large enough that the hundred or so of Voldemort's attackers had to be spread thinly.

At least that was the way things went usually. Sometimes a large room would be too well covered, and the invaders were too well protected for a barrage of spells to get to them. Then the Deputies would pull out cans from a bag and throw smoke-making things into the room. Inside a building the ways to clear smoke or fog out of the air was limited by there being nowhere to push the smoke with wind-making Charms. Then one of the wheely things would carry more of the cans of smoke deeper into the room, and the limping man would walk into the gloom, and then there would come the screams. He'd yell out an all clear, and the young witch would lead people unerringly through the smoke (even if you couldn't see your hand in front of your face), and they would go past the bleeding or strangled bodies to the next place. Sometimes, though, the limper would just put a line of clay against a wall parallel to an opposing strong point, move everyone back, and destroy the wall and whatever had been on the other side. Once they worked their way down a corridor by dropping the ceiling down ahead of them in thirty foot lengths…

The Central Floo office was taken back after about an hour; the regular wards against other magical means of transportation made that very important to prevent either escape for the Death Eaters, or reinforcement. When a force of mixed Aurors and Ministry workers (who had either been released from captivity or discovered hiding) got to the corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries they stopped, and carefully called out their friendly intentions. As the Unspeakables came in stately file up and out of their domain, everyone carefully ignored the several putrefying bodies with slivery masks where their faces should have been, and also those five or so living people who were curled up in balls and crying hopelessly.

All told the basic clearing of the Ministry building took six hours, though it wasn't for another two days that the last of the invaders were discovered in their various hiding places. Over a hundred workers of the Ministry had been killed, at least thirty Aurors, and a hundred and six Death Eaters killed or captured. A special clean-up crew, under the supervision of Auror Tonks, relieved their combat orientated predecessors, and weeded out any Death Eaters who tried to pretend their innocence. The Special Deputies she supervised seemed to have an unerring ability to pierce through disguises or cover stories. When Minister of Magic Fudge reappeared and received praise for how well his preparations of a special and secret Auror unit had worked, he carefully never investigated the documentation that had authorized them having taken over the clearing operation.

For the rest of the initial Special Deputies: Sirius Black went up to Scotland on personal business. Lupin stayed at home recovering from a bad bout of Magical Exhaustion. The limping man staggered into a room in a secure house, stripped his bloody clothes off and burned them before collapsing in a bed and staring at a wall for the next two days. The young witch brought him fluids, and guarded the door to his room like a dragon, until she got relief, and went to sleep for a full day herself.

The attacks on Hogsmeade-Hogwarts, led by Voldemort himself, were a very different affair than the others, with their mix of grim method and farce.


	64. Chapter 64

I do not own, or receive any profit from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

By Larry Huss

Chapter 64- Our Lady of the Crossroads

Hecate roared. The Giant nine hundred yards away slapped his hand to his broken shoulder and howled in pain. The pyramid of bodies that it had been supporting on the bottom layer collapsed, and two of the three layers above him fell, smashing them all into the ground. The one on the top held onto the crenellations of the wall around Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry desperately, until one of the stones was ripped out of its setting by her weight and she plummeted seventy feet down onto the top of the pile of bodies below. The wizard who had been trying to climb up her arm onto the walkway above the main entrance was flung out about ninety feet, and fell down to the ground at least as much. Arms flailing he fell, never quite managing to cast out the cushioning charm he had wanted. Even wizards aren't tough enough to walk or crawl away from a fall from that height, or survive a landing on their head. And, after all, it was a quicker death than the three others who had been trying to scale the living ladder and enter their old Alma Mater and had been crushed by the falling tons of meat. The other silver-masked humans, safely outside of the Falling Giant Zone, were too confused and surprised to do much more than screech at each other.

Click… click… click… click, and then Hecate roared again. Several of the Giants in the pile yelled in pain as the two ounces of lead, still moving at over 1,900 feet a second smashed into their bodies, and punched holes in several, one after the other.

"That should keep the big buggers disorganized for a while," thought John Quartermain to himself. He worked the bolt of his giant gun, the French Army's answer to the Barrett anti-materiel rifle, again (click… click… click… click) and started to line up one of the wizards trying to organize things out near the front entrance of the school. Hecate roared, and the fellow would have to do his organizing missing a lung and a lot of blood. Click… click… click, and click. Even if they got themselves sorted out properly, they were deep into Hogwarts anti-teleport zone. He'd have at least four hundred yards or more to use up his remaining 25 rounds of ammunition before he'd be down to just his Browning Hi-Power. Then they'd be able to just pop-in on him. And then, of course, it would be over quickly. Still, a short life and merry one, after all.

Through his protective earplugs he heard a faint sound. Looking to his left he saw a young girl moving her mouth from the inside of a gabled window on the same roof as he was currently perched. He popped out the hearing protection on his left, and wondered why the kid hadn't cleared out when Mrs. Black had organized the evacuation of the village a half-hour ago.

"Grandmother wants to know if you'd like some tea. And I think we have some scones we could toast up. Say yes, otherwise she won't break out the gooseberry jam Mama made!"

As he scanned the group near the school entrance through the telescopic sight mounted on the four and a half foot long rifle, he considered. It was damned cold up here, and he had missed his breakfast. Never pass up a chance to get something to eat, or a chance to piss, was an old soldier's motto, and one of the best.

"Yes, that would be delightful; thank your grandma please. Oh, I'm John Quartermain, by the way."

"Esmeralda Nutter, sir. Of the Yorkshire Nutters; Mum always says that. I'll just run and let Grandmother know to put the kettle on, and then you can tell me where you got that wonderful staff!"

The girl ducked back in to let her grandmother know it was time to put the kettle on, and do whatever Witches did to get some oolong prepared.

Quartermain gave a finally scope-magnified sweep of the stone bulk to his front. Impaled and drooping like a pennant in still air was some sort of impossible flying creature that had been trying to land on an open wall walk when the school's defensive system was turned on. One minute, a half-ton of flying leather and feathers, carrying two exultant passengers. The next, Wyvern en brochette, with a topping of Death Eater kebab. The other rider had managed to avoid penetration, at least to Quartermain's viewpoint, and was probably wandering around the school with a severe case of combat trauma. John Quartermain had to admit today wasn't shaping up to be the dullest day he had ever had.

?

It should all have gone like clockwork. Quartermain was out covering the front door to the school with his overgrown musket (or undernourished catapult, whichever) and distracting the main force of Death Eaters so Alastor and he could find a side entrance and he could use his secret key. Instead they encountered a runt of a Giant that had evidently been sent around the perimeter of the place to see if there was an easier way in. The seventeen foot tall reject from the First Team just had to show up as Neville and Alastor caught sight of a potentially useful sally port along the west side. All their careful creeping and crawling had just been wasted by sheer bad luck. Neville supposed that was how a lot of things were happening today.

Moody shot spells at the Giant as fast as he could, but Giants were more than just larger humans. Thousands of years of competition and conflict with wizards had made them more resistant to magic than even their large size alone could account for. There was no getting around it now. Neville pulled out the Dark-Cutter, Mark III, brought it to full size, and pushed the starter button.

It roared to life, the sharpened chain whirling the saw teeth around the guide bar. The Giant stumbled to a confused halt, it had never seen anything this small having such a huge sound, and that was alarming. Yelling some battle cry that he could never remember afterwards Neville ran toward his enemy, dodged a swing of its huge right hand, and slashed the saw blade through its left shinbone. The Giant began to fall almost immediately, and Neville showed agility he had never quite managed to produce on the dance floor in getting out of the way of several tons of screaming and thrashing flesh. Before it had even stopped bouncing up from the ground Neville had slid around to the side, pivoted, and brought the overpowered and spell-protected chainsaw down in a short, fast arc onto the back of the creature's neck. It gave a huge spastic jerk, but the saw stayed pressed into its flesh, and burrowed its way out at the front of the Giant's throat. The head was only held on by a thin band of flesh, perhaps six inches thick.

Alastor Moody, experienced Auror of too much damn experience to want to remember it all, had never expected to see young Longbottom with his entire front, face and robes and boots and all, coated completely with red blood and gobbets of torn flesh. Certainly not quiet, polite, young Mr. Longbottom. He wasn't the sort of person to run screaming obscenities while going into a battle against one of the most dangerous foes a wizard could face by themselves, and then taking it down like a skilled matador facing a slightly retarded bull. Kids these days!

Neville shrank and pocketed the Dark-Cutter (with its special customized, souped-up engine and saw-teeth), and briskly went over to the door in Hogwarts' walls. Being as careful to avoid getting excessive blood on it as he could manage, he took a small scroll from a pocket of his robe, unrolled it, and began to read: "I, Neville Longbottom, am a properly appointed Representative of Augusta Longbottom, a member of the Board of Hogwarts. I request entrance to that place, with my companion, Alastor Moody, in order to conduct inspections and other proper business at this time." At that he put the palm of his hand (un-bloodied, due to it being how he had been holding the chainsaw handle), and the door meekly unlocked itself and opened with the slight screech of a long-unused set of hinges. He stepped through briskly, with Alastor following, not wanting to be hanging around outside to see if the Death Easters and Giants out front had heard the noisy machine Neville had used and decided to investigate. Before he could turn around and relock the door, it shut itself with a clang, and shot the bolt. A murmuring sound from all around them came to their ears: "The Headmistress (Acting) has been informed of your arrival and is currently waiting for you in the gallery over the front entranceway." That didn't sound as good as he had hoped.

?

Barty Crouch (he had dropped the 'Jr' part when he had killed his father) smiled under his shiny mask. A whole herd of little lambs to feed his wolfish nature, all under a shepherdess that he could either intimidate or just eliminate if needed. Since she was a Pure Blood, and her family was both large and currently uncommitted he'd play it soft, at first.

"Alright, Bulstrode; separate out the Mudbloods for culling from that little bunch you're herding around, and I'll let you take the others to a safe place until the Dark Lord comes for a final sorting."

The large and ugly girl looked at him with a blank look for a second. Well, nothing unexpected there; he had heard that she was a bit slow, and not all that much of a witch, Pure Blood notwithstanding. Then she carefully lay her wand down at her side, knelt down, and began to respectfully approach him by shuffling forward on her knees. Crouch liked that; being so high in the Death Eater's hierarchy had mostly meant that he spent a lot of time in the Dark Lord's presence, and that meant more than his share of receiving Crucio action. Behavior like this was rare, and he was going to enjoy the girl's abject surrender while he could. He began to ponder what words of majestic command he would use to tell her his next orders when she arrived directly before him, and sank her head and torso a bit lower, her hands going slightly behind her body.

Just as Crouch had decided what he was going to say, Millicent Bulstrode straightened out her body and snapped her right fist in a powerful uppercut to his testicles. As he bent over in the worst non-magical pain he had ever felt (she wasn't a Slytherin Beater for her weak arm), she snapped her hand back over her head, with the fingers opened and called out "wand!" Wilbert Cherneyfield (Ravenclaw, Half-blood, Second Year) scooped it up at the run and slapped it, the handle properly positioned, in her hand. As Crouch fell to his knees, the effort of staying upright too much at that moment, Bulstrode began to cast the Blasting Charm over and over, first shattering Crouch's hand and wand, and then working his head into a mass of broken fragments and bloody red and grey jelly. Millie Bulstrode was only mediocre as a witch; that didn't mean she lacked the will and power to keep going until the job was properly done. Finally, she stood up, gave the corpse in front of her a kick, and snarled out her lesson for the day; "The Sprogs put themselves in my care, didya' really think I'd just let you take them? Arsehole!"

With that, she continued shepherding along the mixed gaggle of Firsts and Second Years, of all houses and origins. She figured that if she could get them to the kitchens the House Elves would be able to tell her what the bloody hell was going on, and could be instructed to get the younglings to safety if things went south.

?

Lord Voldemort was not having nearly as nice a day as he had expected it to be. And things had started out so well! The various assault forces had gotten off on time. He had been able to sneak a score of his best Death Eaters in through the Honeydukes (so called) "secret tunnel," and the ambush group he had sent off to deal with Dumbledore had been properly Polyjuiced and ready with their ambush. In fact, he had Dumbledore's head right next to him in a well cushioned bag, so that it would be recognizable when it went up on public display. But even before they had gotten the head to him, and so could all do a joint assault of the main entrance and let in the rest of the team (and the Giants) things had started to go wrong.

The wards had slammed on within a minute or two of Dumbledore's head falling; every door he wanted to open seemed to need to be blasted off its hinges, and the damned staircases seemed to be all set at the wrong ways for his forces to make their rendezvous. The two who had made it to the main party (whichever one he was in was the main party, of course) with the head said that all the orderly walls and corridors and shortcuts they remembered from their time as students were mixed up. Somehow, the whole place had gone down into extreme lockdown, despite the Headmaster being too dead to turn on the wards. Except it wasn't just exactly that, either. Somehow some of the teachers, leading groups of students, had been able to navigate the maze the school had become, and been gathering and harassing the splintered group that had taken down Dumbledore. Now Voldemort had only six of his select crew with him; the others could all be dead as far as he could tell. As soon as he could get the damn front door valves open he would have forty or more of his troops, as well as as many Giants as he would need to control every staircase and major corridor. But he was pinned down in the Entrance Hall and no opening spell he could figure out was doing anything toward opening up the door. He had even sunk to trying a simple lie, telling the doors he was appointed as the new Master here, and that they should open. If they were capable of hearing him they simply ignored the claim.

Any spell he knew that would be strong enough to blast them open would pretty much shred his little party at this range, himself included. While he would merely be losing a body, the resultant confusion that dying always seemed to be accompanied by would mean that when the main force came through the shattered door (unless they were close enough on their side to be killed by it being blown up) he wouldn't be able to possess any of them in time to lead them victory. They would end up being useless when they stumbled into the killing field that the Entrance Hall had turned into.

Currently his forces were taking damage from spells cast down the wide marble staircase from the next floor up, as well as from a series of holes in the wall of the corridor upstairs. His men were barely surviving, even with his unmatched Transfiguration producing physical defenses, and with their best efforts at setting up protective shields. He hadn't known about those arrow slits that covered the Entrance Hall; they had never been seen when he was there! Why hadn't anyone told him about the damned things? Heads would roll.

He couldn't even get up close enough to blast the defenders away. There was no flying or other special movements in Hogwarts today, and at least half of the floor of the Entrance Hall had somehow turned into a boggy mess that would have slowed him down impossibly. While he could have defended himself against any one, or even five of his enemies, there were simply too many spells coming from too many directions for him to risk himself against.

The worst thing, the very worst thing, was that when he had pulled Dumbledore's head out of the bag… the idiot Staff that was leading the defense had refused to surrender! The only person who could have matched him was dead, and they refused to acknowledge their impossible situation. What could you do with fools like that?

Now the best thing he could think of was to wait for Severus to come, leading a charge of the Slytherin Brigade and taking the teachers and students from the rear. Voldemort petted the shivering Nagini, who crouched all coiled up next to him behind a barrier of debris Transfigured into a solid mass protecting his little band from almost all angles. Unless, of course, one of the other walls that overlooked the Hall suddenly developed firing ports and sharpshooters. Then it would be time to do something, something…. Gryffindorish. Again he petted his serpent familiar, Horcrux, and most loyal companion. She had a sensitive nature, and all this fighting was upsetting her terribly.

?

Severus Snape passed corpses in the corridors. Mostly students, a few staff, and an occasional person in a Death Eater mask. The battle had receded from this section of the school. The sounds of spells going off came from came vaguely to his front and the right. With the topsy-turvy way the corridors and stairs were right now it was hard to say exactly how to get there. But the Dark Mark on his arm served both as an aching spur to action, and a compass. At least it seemed to be giving him a constant direction to head towards.

His Potion Master robe clinked with stuffed and overstuffed pockets filled with little crystal bottles. If anything hit him hard today he would undoubtedly end up as a mass of transfigured, mutated, charred, frozen, and a dozen other types of messed up corpse. It would be quick at least. If he had known this Donnybrook Fair was going to come today he'd have prepared bottles that were safe until they left his hand, but the saying was 'needs must when the Devil drives,' and Snape was sure that the Devil had the reins well in his hands today.

He finally came to the gallery at the top of the stairs, up from the Entrance Hall. Almost twenty students were there, popping up and shooting spells through small windows he had never noticed before. There was also a bunch casting spells down the broad, white marble staircase. The Potter gang was prominent, but leading the show seemed to be Minerva, with Filius and Babbling from Ancient Runes crouched down out of the way, both panting heavily and obviously at the end of their powers. Return curses and hexes came back up the broad stairwell, powerful but at a much slower rate. Snape drew his wand and glided silently up to McGonagall, who was trying to Transfigure some sort of a barrier out on the floor into an uncompacted mess of sand. Snape pointed his wand and cast his best cutting spell, Sectumsempra, will every ounce of his will. He heard a yell of pain come from whichever fool had exposed his hand, down on the floor below.

McGonagall turned around.

"Ah, Severus… glad you could make it to the party. We're quite near the end of our resources here; you're a welcome sight indeed. I do suggest you try to use one of the smaller apertures, though. Your problem with our guest's Mark… it would be best if He didn't recognize it was you up here."

"Hmmm, yes, Minerva, I do believe you're right. Though I do have a few useful potions that it would be rather hard to throw through these murder holes."

The elderly witch chuckled, "I don't know quite what they are called; they're certainly not Murder Holes… but I'll complete your architectural education later. Why don't you give some of them to one of the Weasley twins, they've almost used up their interesting creations, and I'm sure George-"

"I'm Fred!"

"Fred then, would use his strong left arm to keep the interlopers properly amused… and distant… if you re-supplied him."

"Where's Albus?"

The witch looked down for a moment.

"You know how Albus told us to ignore those anonymous warnings that came two days ago, that an attack was imminent? Well, I took it to heart a bit more than he did, and thought about things. This morning, as I was going to breakfast, I suddenly heard a voice saying that the Headmaster was incapacitated and that as Acting Headmistress I had temporary executive authority until the Board appointed a permanent Master. I immediately declared a full lockdown and protective ward raising, until things cleared up.

"It didn't take long for what the problem was to become clear and, well… people have been filtering here for the last half hour. But it's Him down there, and we're running down faster than we're hurting them.

"Albus… Albus is most likely dead. What with me getting the authority to activate the wards, and Voldemort's showing what _looked like _his head… it's very likely so."

Minerva realized she had never seen Snape fully enraged before; every other time had always had an element of play-acting in it. His face went white, his features were frozen, and his dark eyes were somehow burning with intensity. He ran to where Fred Weasley crouched next to staircase and began to empty his pockets of all his little bottles. He set them up in ordered rows, and gave a short description of each. For the first time in his Hogwarts career Weasley looked up at the Potions Master with absolute attention and respect, nodding his head as each particular form of death was carefully revealed to him.

When his pockets were emptied, Snape went over to one of the overlooking windows, and told the students there, Ginny Weasley and a Dean something-or-other, (who had been there alternating shooting harassing spells down at the edges of the barricade below) to take a rest, and perhaps see if there was some further place of advantage they could find. He began, slowly, and methodically, casting spells down at the edges of the barrier protecting the Death Eaters and their Master. For some reason he seemed to be hearing a far-off humming or droning sound.

Minerva McGonagall's eyes went blank for a second. It had almost seemed as if a voice inside of her head had just informed her that Lady Longbottom's Representative and his attendant would be joining her shortly. She shook her head, there seemed to be a far off sound, like a bagpipe just starting to play.

?

John Quartermain sipped at his mug of tea (the Gooseberry jam had been very good; he had finished off his muffin quickly) and chatted a little with Esmeralda. He was using his other hand to hold his binoculars focused on the group of Giants and Wizards holding a comic fire-drill down at the gates of the school. Then he heard a humming sound from high above him. A glint of silver sparkled for an instant, very high up.

"Esmeralda girl, get into the basement of this place, and make sure you get Granny there too. Get away from any window looking toward Hogwarts. Now!"

As the girl scooted her head inside to go to her grandmother Quartermain got his Hecate off the roof, and into the building, following it as quickly as he could.

?

Sitting in the co-pilot's seat, Draco Malfoy pointed out landmarks to Tim Russell, who was doing the actual driving of the Skyvan. Draco didn't want to admit he had mostly been getting their directions by following the railroad tracks of the Hogwarts Express. Everything looked so different from this high up. The highest he had ever been before was a hundred or so feet above the towers at school (and getting ribbed afterwards by Vince for not trying to peek into the 'Claws girls' lav). Now everything below looked like one of the window displays at Yuletime, the ones in those shops that sold little play sets of castles and knights.

Suddenly Draco saw it, and pointed out the front window down at Hogwarts and Hogsmeade below. The Muggle craft went into a banking turn, and Draco pushed a lever on the panel in front of him. Behind him, in the rear section of the aircraft, the sloping back end of the cargo area started to pivot downward, becoming a ramp. Draco jumped up and ran to the giant dart-shaped payload, and pulled out a pin sticking out of its nose, and began to push it out of the airplane. He didn't feel offended that he was doing the heavy work; Duggan was sitting in front of a box with a glass plate in it, watching a view of the inside of the Skyvan slowly get smaller. A thin wire played out from a large reel of the stuff, joining the airplane and weapon. The plane tilted nose up for a second, and the ton of weight slid outside, making the entire vehicle gave a little jump. Draco grabbed a control on the wall, and the ramp slowly came up again, sealing off the plane's rear.

On his way back up to the pilot's section, Draco glanced at the glass plate Duggan was so intent on. And he stopped, and stared. Duggan was looking out of a window, a window on the giant lawn dart that was falling and gliding down the long miles to the grounds of Hogwarts. Things on the ground were getting bigger and bigger; now Draco could make out the faces of people on the ground. No, there were tiny people next to those he could see features on. Silver masked Death Eaters next to a whole clan of Giants.

Duggan twitched a small stick jutting up from a small box, and the view from the window shifted a trifle further from the walls of the school, and then everything went dark on the glass plate. A second or so later a dull boom rattled the metal walls of the aircraft, and it jumped another foot or so upward. Draco looked out of a porthole in the side of the plane and saw a rising dust cloud near the front entrance of the school, and then they were turned about and flying back toward the aerodrome that officially wasn't operational, and had certainly _not_ been used by an improvised bomber to do a mission to Scotland that day.

?

John Quartermain shoved Hecate's muzzle out of the now glass-free second story window, and focused the telescopic sight on where he figured the front doors of Hogwarts School would be, when the dust cloud settled. When everything was set up he put his hearing protectors in again, and turned to his left. There, Esmeralda Nutter (of the Yorkshire Nutters) turned her head back and forth to show that she had goodly wads of cotton wool stuck in both ears. She so wanted to see Mr. Quartermain use his Muggle staff. It was named after her favorite goddess of all, and she wanted to see it at work!

?

Minerva McGonagall tried to pretend that she hadn't for a moment had a twinge of doubt about Severus staying loyal after being told that Albus was dead. At least that worry was now a thing of the past. He had shown his side clearly now, occasionally wincing and rubbing his left arm as Voldemort sent more and more urgent calls for help through the Dark Mark. He still kept on sending curses barely this side of the Unforgiveables down at the invaders below. She looked over to her side; Filius' color was a little better. He was really too old for this game, but had refused to stay away from where the action was.

There was young Neville (oddly enough he was wearing crimson robes) coming up the hallway, and Moody was with him! Yes! Old Moody would be a useful reinforcement for their strength. Her young lions were staying in the game, keeping a continuing stream of harassing spells outgoing. Fred and George and Ginny and Dean and Harry and Ron and Hermione, and Luna (Minerva had long since accepted Luna Lovegood as an honorary Gryffindor).

At that moment, the walls of Hogwarts boomed like a giant drum beaten by a mad Titan. A rush of wind came roaring in from the across the Entrance Hall, carrying a thick cloud of dust and smoke. The floors throughout the castle shock and danced a little jig, before settling down to respectable solidity again. Coming to his wits, Fred (or was it George?) began to throw an assortment of the external affecting potions that Snape had left by him down the stairway and into the obscured room below. A huge and terrifying hissing came out, almost a draconian roar, assaulting their ears. As the dust cleared, those on the upper floor saw the huge snake that had been following Voldemort around writhing halfway up the stairs, several fuming and smoking areas as big as a dinner plates burnt through its thick scales.

Where the front doors of Hogwarts had been, light streamed in. The thick, magically-reinforced sections of oak and iron lay blown off their hinges, leaning drunkenly against the Dark Lord's protective barrier. That had been facing the wrong way for protection from this unforeseen event. A dust-covered arm lay twenty feet or so in front of what had been the fortification. Bits of shiny metal masks and thigh-thick fragments of bone were stuck in the door panels, a rusty colored dust covering everything with a hint of what had happened to those who had been pounding on them outside.

There was a moment of relative silence, except for the echoing hissing coming from the snake. A high pitched voice called out, "Sic 'em, Nagini!" The serpent began again to wriggle its way up the last few steps, with yard after yard of body trailing behind it. The defenders started to group themselves to ambush the creature when it reached the top of the flight. Neville Longbottom reached into a pocket in his robe and pulled out something small, which began to swell in size as he began to run forward. A dreadful roaring sound filled the upper corridor as he hit his stride.

Nagini managed to get her first five or so feet of her length up onto the corridor floor, the rest of her being stuck in a area under effect of a patented Weasley Instant Swamp potion. Neville Longbottom burst past the Potter Clique firing line, which was hesitating to try to hex the weaving head of the giant beast lest their missed spells hit their friends on the other side of the stairwell. He lifted the Dark-Cutter over his head, and slashed it down a foot behind where the yard long head had opened its maw, exposing dripping, poisoned, fangs.

The toughness of the scales on the ten inch thick neck was more than any aged and seasoned hard wood he had ever tried to cut (magic will do that, if done right), but at Nate's suggestion they had gotten this saw's teeth embedded with diamond grit, like those used to cut granite, and there was nothing tougher. In another splatter of blood, the front eighty pounds of the snake was severed, with the rest of the body going into a wild spasm of reflexive contortions as the neurological message that it was dead spread down its length.

Tom Riddle wasn't around to see or mourn. He didn't really expect Nagini to survive, but he had four more Horcrux anyway, and having her cover his retreat would mean he wouldn't have to spend more years getting a new body while his organization fell apart… again! So he sprinted out of the broken doorway as soon as he saw that the snake had all of his enemies' attention. As he got outside he was blinded by the bright light, and stumbled into a shallow, but wide depression that hadn't been there before. Sixty or so yards of the flagstone path leading up front doors of Hogwarts was now a wide bowl a foot or more deep. Much as he expected, there was no welcome party of supporters and dupes waiting for him on this side of the walls. What had happened was obvious; the 'how' he would find out later. For now… well, he still had Dumbledore's head. Why not just cast Morsmordre, the Dark Mark of murder and mastery, over Hogwarts, and call this a victory? He was alive, Dumbledore was dead; that certainly felt like a victory to him! So Lord Voldemort raised his wand to the sky, and spent a precious few seconds to cast the sign of death over Hogwarts.

?

Now that was interesting, Quartermain thought. Someone was running out of the busted-in doors of the school (ugly bugger, too). The question was, which side was he on?

When the fellow raised his wand, and the Skull and Snake started to form in the sky above the castle, that was cleared up quickly. John hadn't slept through his briefing on Death Eater Recognition. It was one of their big shots, maybe calling for reinforcements or something. Centering the scope, breathing as he had practiced hundreds of times before, John Quartermain gently squeezed… and Hecate roared.

?

It was the prolonged bursts of screaming that finally drew them out of the building. They had gingerly crept down to the floor of the Entrance Hall, avoiding the slowly disappearing patches of Instant Swamp, and taken the sole surviving invader prisoner. And the screams from outside had continued, as Nagini died by inches, as snakes are likely to do. Until she was finished Tom Riddle would have no final peace or respite from pain.

Finally, Headmistress (Acting) McGonagall had poked her head out into the sunlight, and caught a glimpse of the convulsing Voldemort, lying half in and half out of the bowl cut into the earth at Hogwarts' front door. She walked over to it, leading a gaggle of Staff and students.

Eventually, the huge snake gave up its last quiver of vitality, and grew still. The body of the last of the Gaunts stopped twitching. And nothing rose from the corpse… nothing fled into the woods to try to return another day, with another army. All that lay there was a body, and whatever had made it that of Lord Voldemort, or Tom Riddle, had gone on to whatever its final fate would be.

Neville looked down on the body his pain and blood had made, and then turned to (Acting) Headmistress McGonagall. "Madam, as my grandmother's Representative I would like to inform you that I will be able to give a positive report to her of your energy and skill at caring for the school and students here at Hogwarts. I beg that you excuse me, and my associate Mr. Moody, at this time as we have to pick up another of our little party, and present our report. I'll just say goodbye to some of my friends, and allow you to supervise the… repairs to the school's structure. Please segregate and preserve the intruders' bodies for the Aurors who, I am sure, will be calling soon." With that, he sauntered over to the clot of students around Voldemort's body. On the way Moody came over, shutting the case on a communications mirror. There were only a few words exchanged, but both were smiling when Neville got close enough to the students to have his little chat.

"Guys, there are still some of the scum running around, but we're taking the Ministry Building back, and unless Riddle has another set of tricks up his sleeve, this is about wrapped up. And since he's no Weasley…" at that Fred and George's faces began to hurt them from their wide grins, "we should be about done with him. I'll be in touch, really."

At that he tried to turn to go and join Moody in picking up Quartermain for the return trip, but for the next few minutes his friends just wouldn't let him. This time, as a special way of commemorating the day, Moody wouldn't berate him for holding everyone up.

Severus Snape walked up the Headmistress to inform her of his resignation, at the end of the term, of his position of Potions Professor. He found her looking into a plastic bag, her face in an expression of horror. He made a grunt of inquiry.

"Albus…" was all that she could say.

In a musing tone, Snape spoke slowly. "There was supposed to be this prophecy; in my mad days I had reported the first few lines to… Voldemort. It was all about fated enemies, unclear birth dates, and only X can do Y. All the usual rubbish. That's why… Voldemort was so hot to do in Potter and Longbottom. Or Longbottom and Potter. Birthdays and moon risings and, of course, curses."

He looked down at the Dark Lord's remains. "From the hole in the body it looks like some damn Muggle bagged the Dark Lord like he was a rabbit poached in a garden. I wonder when our mysterious Muggle was born. I wonder if he has any interesting scars, moles or birthmarks. I wonder, if we ever discover who it was, if Fudge and his cronies won't have the poor bastard up on charges for assaulting a Wizard." He walked slowly back into the school, shaking his head like a man trying to make sense of a confusing dream.

Finally, Neville and Alastor managed to break away from the Hogwarts group, and go into town to join up with their missing teammate. After a little searching, they find him having tea and toast with gooseberry jam with a slightly confused elderly lady, and her enthusiastic six year old great-granddaughter. Before they could break up the party, Quartermain had to promise to write to the child, and tell her all about how she could get wonderful Muggle stuff.

For the Hogwarts folk there was still a scouring of the school, and a taking of the rolls to see who would never again lose points for their House, or complain of Pince's ridiculous standards of library silence. That night some chose Firewhiskey, and some chose mourning over the bodies of the dead in the improvised chapel that had been made of the Great Hall. Some took comfort with a loved one, and celebrated surviving with the rites of life.


	65. Epilog

I do not own, or receive any benefit from the Harry Potter properties.

Out of the West

By Larry Huss

Epilog:

July 9, 1996 through November 8, 1996 -London, Britain.

With the defeat of Voldemort, Minister for Magic Fudge called for an election, hoping to secure an extended term of office as Wizarding Britain's successful guardian. As they have so many times in the past, the British exhibited their complete ingratitude (Churchill in 1945, Pitt the Younger) and a bewildered sure-victor found himself looking at a headline in **The Daily Prophet**:_ "_We Have Left The Age Of Fudge!"

No longer in power, without all the influence and patronage at his fingertips, his web of bribery and corruption began to unravel. First some hints he couldn't stifle, then a story that the newspapers and Wizarding Wireless didn't suppress, and finally Minister Scrimgeour appointing a Special Investigator. Cornelius Fudge managed to evade process servers, and was last seen taking a random international Floo connection, carrying a satchel rumored to contain millions in negotiable securities.

Minister Scrimgeour, on the advice of his Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Bones, concluded an Agreement with the Men from Cathay for cooperation and mutual non-interference. What she had been able to piece together indicated that they were some intermediary state between Muggle and Wizard, but had no desire to either be accorded the benefits of entry into Magical Britain, or to do other than live their own life of shadows and secrets. An effective ally (that much was clear from Shacklebolt's contacts with them) that wasn't already begging for offices or government contracts; what wasn't to love?

Hogwarts started its term on September 1st as usual. Headmistress McGonagall had made some changes in the curriculum, and had managed to get at least temporary replacements for the teacher's who had left (Snape, for example) or been killed (Trelawney, etc). DADA Professor Lupin was a welcome returnee, as was Horace Slughorn for Potions. Many of the students who had left the school due to the unsettled conditions in Wizarding Britain returned, and one of the first things, before even the Sorting, that was done on starting day was the honoring of those who had served their school with particular effectiveness. Among those honored were the Potter Clique, Millicent Bulstrode, and Draco Malfoy. Some say that the start of Lord Malfoy's political career truly began on that day.

As he was not an enrolled student ,Lord Longbottom was not in that roll; he had returned to his school across the Atlantic, and to the despair of many a maid of impeccable lineage and romantic nature it was well known that he had an _understanding_ with some title-hunting American harpy.

July 1, 1999-Shinseisaru Temple, Japan

She showed up, knowing less than a dozen words of Japanese, at the gates of the Temple. Sun hair and Moon eyes, walking with perfect assurance through gates and up stairways she had never seen before, up to the private quarters of the Priestess, who had tea and slices of fruitcake and imported shortbread biscuits waiting for her. The servants of the Temple had wondered why they were preparing a special afternoon tea for the Priestess when no Cabinet Ministers or major ecclesiastical politicians were on the schedule. In fact, Miura-sama had pretty much cleared her schedule for the month, except for visits to her daughter, and a Fire Reading for an Incredibly Important Person.

It was rumored after Moon Girl had left that she had fought in a battle with the Devils Between, and that she would soon return for more spiritual training, and perhaps even a _meeting with the Ancestor! _ When asked if that would happen the Priestess only said, "My friends are always welcome… and Grandfather thinks she's cute."

September 14, 1999- Chihuahua, Mexico

Harry looked over at Ron holding Luna in his arms as if he was afraid that she would come apart if he let go. Somehow she had held out during the battle, pointing at weaknesses, and finally giving them the information of the critical point and time to do their ultimate strike. It must have been even worse for her than for the telepaths. They had had powerful thoughts smashing at their wills, like breakers on a lee shore. She had been submerged in images of insane alieness and cosmic wrongness that none of the rest of them could even imagine.

Moody was sitting on a rock holding his head in his hands, tired beyond being tired. He had thought the Cathayans had been exaggerating what they had said what they were expecting to meet down here. Instead it had been worse, and all the equipment they had brought with them had been barely enough to hold up their end. His mind was slowly cycling through his memories: was _that _cave he had seen thirty years ago really like the one now being sealed by Granger with strange, star-shaped rune stones? If so, he'd be heading back to North Africa soon, to make sure that nothing there had been disturbed, and to lay some powerful aversion wards to prevent ignorant meddling by locals or tourists.

Tom DeMarco came over to Harry from where he had finished packing up the missile launcher and remaining ammunition. He glanced down into the shallow valley, and the sixty-five yards of calcifying abomination lying in twisted loops and frozen curves. DeMarco gave a respectful nod to the wizard.

"Well… thanks. If it hadn't been for your guys I don't know if I could have held the rest of the team in place. Seeing you standing there and opening up the outer layer gave us some hope. Having the cut you made as an aiming point didn't hurt either.

"We'll be finished here in another half hour. A forensics team is already on its way, so just relax. They'll do the casualty recovery, and secure the specimen and samples. They'll take care of getting the bodies back home also."

The man then went back to help the few of his team still fully functional make the sedated ones as comfortable as possible.

Hermione came over to Harry, and sat down with a groan. She wasn't yet twenty, and already she felt like saying that she was too old for this type of stuff.

"Nothing living down there, not as we can understand it, anyway. I followed Luna's instructions; the stones she and Miura made seem to be closing up the hole. What's on the other side…I just got a glimpse of it. We're lucky; what came through had to simplify itself to exist here. Pretty confusing on the other side."

This was from the woman who had recently spent a happy afternoon arguing with Liz Green over whether or not they were living in an eleven or a seventeen dimension universe.

"Nothing living?" Harry asked. He'd still had some hope. Jonah and the whale, after all.

"No, which leaves us with an interesting question. Who's going to tell Liz?"

Seven miles away

Albert Fermi completed inputting the codes into the detonator box. Now there was no way to set off the Medium Atomic Demolition Munition (Mark 5). The US government had never realized it had actually been built, the big 25-kiloton one. They had thought it had only been a theoretical study the bomb geeks up at Las Alamos had been speculating about. He'd thought that Leo had been excessively paranoid, when he begged his superior to put it in place on the route out of the valley at the mouth of the cave, just in case.

Now Fermi saw that Leo had just been prudently cautious. He'd have to apologize to the boy when he saw him in a day or so. If the kid hadn't also somehow wrangled the Wizards into doing whatever stuff they did that had held the thing that had emerged from the cave in place, until the TOWs had managed to crack its shell… it was hard to see what else could have stopped it until the Air Force could get permission to violate Mexican airspace and get something heavy down here. By then, according to the best analysis that AGER could generate, it would have reported back to wherever it came from that it was free lunch day. Not something good for the human race, which would have been the appetizers.

Fermi decided he would order Leo to go back to college, get his degree. And also start working on him to marry Luci. It wouldn't be a love match (at least on the boy's side, though he liked her well enough), but it was time he settled down and started raising a public family; his genes were too valuable to continue to risk in field operations. And Luci had had a crush on him since he had babysat her over a decade ago. Being an indulgent father was no crime, even if you _were_ head of AGER US.

June 4, 1999-Port de Dives-sur-Mer, Normandie

The black-haired girl played on the steps outside of the run-down, fake-Norman style apartment building a block away from the promenade along the harbor. She threw the blue rubber ball from her hand against one of the three steps leading up into the building and caught it on the rebound. Again and again. She knew she would be here for a while, and all of her books and dolls were upstairs. Father was up in their one bedroom rental, with another of his girlfriends. Sometimes, rarely, the women tried to be friendly, and if they lasted for a few weeks or months pretended that they were going to become her new mother. Mostly they were only for a few nights, going in with oddly unfocused eyes and leaving confused and lost looking. When he had a girlfriend over Father made Aster sleep on a cot in the kitchen.

Today there was a fresh and unexpected one, and the child hadn't had a chance to grab her backpack filled with books and toys before she had been hustled out of the room so her eager Father could slip the poor bitch another potion and get her going. Aster wished that they would stay in one place long enough for her to go to school; then she wouldn't have to spend so much time alone while all the other children were busy. She didn't feel frightened; this had happened so often before; being alone outside while Father played. They had been in this town for over a month now, and the local shopkeepers kept a half-eye on the little foreign girl. One had even rummaged into their child's things and handed her the ball when they saw that she had nothing to do. This was a good place, not like last year when they had been flush and spent time at one of the Riviera resort towns. Sometimes she had been sent down on the beach by herself. Then she had felt eyes on her; she could always tell when she was being watched the wrong way, and she had wanted for Father to get finished with whatever he had been doing and come back so she wouldn't have to defend herself and get punished for attracting attention.

She liked this place better. They weren't very well off right now, but the town was nice and she liked the people and the birds fighting over the scraps of food down by the fishing boat docks. She knew they wouldn't stay here long though; good things were always used up fast, and good places were the ones they seemed to leave the soonest. She knew she was being watched (she always knew that, it was part of her), but it didn't feel like the bad kind, just… intense.

Two people turned onto the street, a middle-aged woman and a young man. Aster thought they were very beautiful; tall and blond and with elegant clothing. They stopped at the entrance to her building, the woman gave a small nod to the young man, and he went inside. Aster supposed they must be doing business with someone who lived there. They were obviously much too well off to have to rent for the summer in a place like that. In a moment the sound of a loud argument started coming through the open windows of a fourth floor bedroom. It sounded like Father's voice, and then a woman yelling…

The foreign woman knelt down facing the child. She seemed a bit stiff, but friendly enough. She began to speak in English.

"Hello Lyra, I am your aunt, Narcissa…"

May 4, 2015- Lake Biwa, Japan

Masatane Tomoko glanced down from the view across the lake. There it was, on her laptop: the payment for the rights for the live action movie series had finally shown up in her account. She was now officially the wealthiest author in Japan. It really wasn't what she had expected, when she had started writing a fictionalized version of her time at the temple. But first the children's novels went so well, then the manga, the anime, and now the four-picture deal was confirmed.

The Priestess thought it was hilarious, for some reason. She _did_ expect to see the manuscript of each new work, but she hardly ever requested any changes, and even those were usually improvements. As Masatane had progressed in creating the complicated (but strangely un-tangled) world of The Talented Ones the Priestess had been helpful in suggesting new characters, new plot twists, new villains and new locations. She _had_ demanded to be a Beta tester of the Mighty Miko video combat game, however.

What no one suspected that if all the trappings of conventional novelistic fantasy were stripped away, ninety percent of the basic plot structure (and as far as Masatane could figure, characters) were real. She had seen the Moon Girl (and her red-headed husband and children) at the temple. She had seen the Queen of Lightening smiling as her husband (the Green Mage) had landscaped the surroundings of the temple into something both wild and inviting. They were real… real as the Priestess' Ancestor. As real as her own family. Every day was a walk in an age of wonders.

October 15, 2015- London

Hermione Granger-Potter looked with satisfaction at her work. Well, Rudolph Tomkins had done excellent stuff on figuring out the needed protective runes, so she gave him mental credit as well.

The Veil, the damned Veil, the murderous and child-stealing Veil, was sealed up so that a month's worth of wizardry would be needed to open it up again from this side. From the other side? As far as Magic could do, any soul-sucking, kidnapping pseudopod that tried to break into this world would be hit by enough firepower to simultaneously fry, freeze, electrocute, and dissolve it to nothingness. If anything actually got through that, there was a battery of WizTech automated megawatt lasers permanently on-line. She might be one of the few Witches that could appreciate what the numbers meant, but for most magical folk it was enough that Lord Longbottom was seriously pissed that one of his wife's relatives had been abducted, and had used his connections with the mysterious Cathayans to ensure such offenses never recurred.

Hermione had taken it as a personal insult that the attack had occurred on her watch. That was her professional pride. The blow to her heart had been realizing what the boy's mother must be going through. Well, when Luna got back from her work in Bolivia she'd add the last possible layer of protection on this hole in the world, and they would have to hope it would be enough. The thought of a major rift to the Place Between appearing in the middle of London was terrifying.

October 8, 2032- Wilson's Pub and Grill, Boston, MA.

After the speakers finished their part of the Roast of the retiring Department Head for IT for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, he rose to give the traditional obscene rebuttal and counter attack.

Unfortunately, having sipped a bit too much of the amber brew, he spent the next twenty minutes insulting them in the latest of the Green-Surokawa programming language variants. He was driven home from the event by his eldest daughter, so it all turned out well enough.

Two days later, Nate Duggan left for a stint as a teacher at some special school in the South-west; some sort of college prep place, or something like that.

November 8, 2040- Longbottom Manor, England

Lord Longbottom sat by the bed of the dying woman and held her hand. Their divorce had become official two weeks ago, her final strange gift of love to him.

She had assured him that no one in the Wizarding world would expect him to be faithful to the memory of the Muggle (or rather, Cathayan) that had divorced him. It wouldn't be like he was a widower of a forty year marriage. By her calculation he would be besieged by interesting women within the month. She didn't want him to be lonely and mope around in the gardens and greenhouses of the Manor. At sixty he was barely middle aged for a wizard.

At sixty she was dying, of conditions that medicine, magic, and the powers of Dr. Lou-Ann Green couldn't cure. A little young to die, but not exceptionally so, for an Emergent. Of course her elder brother had died before he had reached twenty-one, but after all he had been a casualty of an endless war. Her children and grandchildren should live long, full lives. Longbottoms tended to. Her Nev might have up to a good eighty years to go; she didn't want him to be lonely all that time, he deserved better.

Lord Longbottom looked at his wife (to him the paperwork was meaningless; there had never been an estrangement between them) and tried to persuade her not to complete her final, glorious, crimes against the laws of nature. She lay there in a hospital bed with wires connecting her to the world's best computer (via secure channels), and more tubes and drains than he could count. Her body would die, but everything about her mind would be stored in the logic core for the Priore Ceta expedition, the first attempt to plant a self-sustaining manned research station on an extra-solar planet. Hidden deep in the software she would watch, and make sure that the computer programs didn't "Go all HAL on them" as the ship spent its fifty seven year voyage, with the crew in Cold Sleep. Having the hibernation technique named that had been one of her little tributes to her dead brother, fond of science fiction and its descriptive clichés.

He wondered what would happen when she finally allowed herself to die. There were, he knew, souls and destinations for them. When her work was done, where would she be; would he ever come again to be with her? Currently he knew she felt she had only two things to do before she left a body that had been filled with pain for the last two years. Preparing to protect the expedition was one; the other was an insane and brilliant act of love. Preparations started over forty years ago would download Leo Green's mind (as far as the primitive technology of the time could analysis and store it) into an adolescent cloned version of his body. Hopefully holographic brain architecture would fill in the missing parts from the reflexes and memories available. Maybe. Hopefully.

Would he be a person, or a soul-less creature of appetites and primal drives? Would he be Leo, or just a mass of skills and Talents? At Leo's funeral Sirius had said that Leo could have been more dangerous than Riddle, if he hadn't been trying not to disappoint his sister and brother. Liz would soon be gone, one way or the other. Aaron was, of course, a picture of robust health, but he was still one of the ephemeral Emergents. The new Leo would have decades to live, without being constrained by prior bonds of love or family. When he was reborn, and it would be soon, would he even have a soul, or care about anyone in all the world?

May 8, 2042 - Shinseisaru Temple, Japan

The Priestess danced through the garden, playing with something only a few of her attendants (and her children, of course) could see. She said it was a Rui Shi, a Chinthe, a guardian spirit. Most only saw an elderly, but still somehow beautiful, woman performing incredible acrobatics by herself. Others saw a huge shadowy ball of green light playing tag with her. Those who saw the Other Side properly saw that she was (as usual) just being honest. A huge, very odd looking lion cub danced and played with her, joyously, until the time it would have to stand guard at the gates of the world, again.


End file.
